Bill Sykes
by ScroogeMcDuck
Summary: A boy who became a man. A man who became a murderer. This is the tale of none other than the infamous housebreaker, William 'Bill' Sykes.
1. Prologue

Prologue

How long had he been running? He didn't know, he didn't care. As long as he got away. That's what mattered. He had to escape from that brute…

He stopped once he reached the relative safety of an alleyway, his heart pounding furiously, sweat and tears mingling as they coursed down his face. He squeezed his eyes tight shut to try and stop the tears…he never cried. Never.

The boy sank to the cobblestones, arms wrapped tight around his knees. He was beginning to rethink his decision; where could he go? How would he live? He couldn't spend the rest of his life in this alleyway, could he? He staggered to his feet again, mopping his brow with his cap.

He kept running, or trying to, for a few minutes more. He kept stumbling and staggering, having to grab at anything within reach to keep his balance. His legs were shaking beneath him as he collapsed once again, thankfully onto a set of steps rather than the grimy alley floor, not that the steps were any less dirty.

The ten year old glanced up at the structure to which the steps belonged and gave a little gasp.

London Bridge.

He'd never been here before in his life, he had no reason to. But now he was here he couldn't help but be glad of it. This must mean he was far away from the man he called 'father'; the drunkard, the bully, the monster.

Bill Sykes smiled weakly to himself as he slipped quietly into unconsciousness.


	2. Welcome To Spitalfields

Chapter One – Welcome to Spitalfields 

Bill awoke to a cacophony of sound; workmen calling to one another, tradesmen barking orders, the creak of pulleys and levers from the Thames, the sound of water lapping against the various boats and barges that populated its waters.

He struggled to his feet; no-one noticed him, just another unfamiliar face amongst the crowd. He jammed his cap firmly back on his head, brushing himself down before descending the steps where he'd spent the night.

The morning was cool and crisp, a slight breeze soon picked up. Bill had no idea where to go or what to do; this had seemed like such a brilliant plan…but now he was in an unfamiliar part of London, with not the slightest idea where he was, the bridge being his only landmark. He didn't like the feeling of being lost.

Trying to look as though he knew what he was doing, the boy made his way towards what he hoped was the centre of town, his hands jammed in his pockets, his worn boots scuffing the pavements. The streets of the city were crowded at this time of day, people everywhere you turned, jostling, pushing, shoving, running hither and thither, plying their trade, chatting, laughing, looking at the market stalls…

At one such stall, a man caught Bill's eye. It was hard to identify anyone in this throng, but this man stood out a little more than the rest. He was dressed for winter weather in a long green overcoat, a broad-brimmed black hat atop his head. His hair was nothing more than a tangle of ginger and he had a three-day beard about his chin in the same hue. As Bill drew nearer, he saw that the man was quite short for his age (he looked to be about nine and thirty) with sharp, darting eyes and tattered fingerless gloves on his thin hands. He continued to watch, enthralled, as the man reached for a loaf of bread from the stall, deftly swiped it and tucked it inside his overcoat.

Before Bill could notice anything more, the man bolted, scurrying down the street like a frightened mouse being pursued by a cat. It was only then, as the man ran off with the loaf, that Bill realized he was hungry. Painfully so.

He decided to follow him.

This was no easy task, the streets appeared to become more crowded by the minute. After a few minutes frantic searching, Bill had lost all sight of the man. Cursing under his breath he turned back around, intending to go and find food somewhere else.

An hour or so had elapsed. Bill had seen neither hide nor hair of the strange man, nor had he been able to pluck up the courage to attempt what the man had done to get the bread. He'd tried appealing to those who passed him for food, but they simply sneered at him and walked on, muttering angrily to themselves about the beggars and urchins of today.

Grumbling now, feeling faint from hunger, Bill sank down onto the pavement, not longer caring for the people that bumped into him or nearly tripped over him, chin in his hands as he tried to come up with a plan. He just needed food…should he try doing as that man had done? Could he do that?

The sound of whistling, somewhat off key, started the boy from his thoughts. Looking up, who should he see but that man again, whistling through his teeth in a rather irritating fashion, hands deep in his pockets. He was walking casually towards yet another stall, this one selling ripe red apples. This time Bill tailed him, watching wide-eyed as he picked up an apple and shoved it in his pocket without a second thought.

"Oi! Thief!"

The stall owner had spotted them, but it wasn't the strange man he was after. He thought Bill had stolen the fruit! Said man, noticing this, grinned wickedly before starting to scurry away again. But before he could go more than a few paces Bill managed to stop him in his tracks.

"It wosn't me, for gawd's sake! It wos him!" He pointed frantically to the man and, while the stall owner looked away, Bill made his escape. The true thief meanwhile had taken off at a run, his coat flying behind him, the stall owner in hot pursuit.

Chuckling to himself as he watched the pair run off, Bill swiped himself an apple of his own before darting off down a nearby alleyway, safe at last, and with food in his hand.

He continued in this vein for the rest of the day, swiping food from stalls and carts of all denominations. He was surprised to find he could achieve his aims without being spotted; he was small and scrawny enough not to be noticed, it would seem.

Night soon drew on and Bill soon found himself lost amongst a labyrinth of alleyways, the cold moon casting its eerie light across the murky streets. He trudged on for what felt like hours, but made no progress. Every alley looked exactly the same.

Muttering furiously, Bill settled down to sleep on the doorstep of what looked to be an abandoned house, pulling his ragged coat about him in a vain attempt to stave off the cold. By some miracle he managed to sleep, not sparing the strange man from earlier another thought.

--

Bill was awoken by someone tripping over him. He hadn't expected this and awoke with a jolt, prepared to yell at whoever had disturbed what little sleep he was likely to get.

Looking up, he realized with a sinking feeling that the man who had tripped over him was none other than the ginger haired, food-stealing man with the funny hat. He would have groaned dispiritedly and tried to get back to sleep, not wanting to talk to a man who'd tried to get him caught, but no sooner had he thought this then the man had grabbed him, pinning him against the wall.

"What was that for, eh?" he growled, his face inches away from Bill's. The man's breath reeked of cheap gin, and Bill shrank back as much as he could, fearing for his life though his eyes were still half closed. The man was a maniac; that much was obvious.

"Wot?" Bill mumbled, still half asleep.

"You know very well what!" snarled the man, shaking Bill by the collar. "Tryin' to get me nabbed by the traps, were you, eh?"

"Wot're you talkin' about?" snapped Bill, wide awake now at the man's accusation. He knew who the traps were; his father had mentioned them often, in very colourful and unpleasant language. "There wos no traps about!"

The man rolled his bloodshot eyes, still glowering at Bill. "There _could_ have been!" he replied with what little nonchalance he had, loosening his grip on Bill's throat a fraction. "Who are you anyway?"

"Shouldn't I be askin' you tha'?" Bill quipped back, trying to wriggle free of the man's grip. But even though it wasn't as tight as it had been before, it was still strong enough to prevent hiss escape.

"Perhaps…" answered the man, with the faintest hint of a smile. "As long as you promise not to rat me out."

Bill rolled his eyes. This man was paranoid!

"I promise," he said solemnly, curious despite himself. What sort of person steals food, blames it on a passing stranger and then comes to interrogate said stranger in a deserted alleyway in the middle of the night?

"Good," the man hissed, smiling toothily. "Good, my dear." He let go of Bill, helping the boy up as he crumpled on the pavement. Bill accepted the man's assistance, rubbing his head and he was helped to his feet.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man theatrically, giving Bill an extravagant bow. "My name is Fagin. Just Fagin; although I won't say no to Mister Fagin Esquire, if you're so inclined." He grinned again, holding out a hand for Bill to shake. "And yourself?"

Bill didn't shake the man's hand…not yet. Could he trust him?

"Bill Sykes," he replied, with no theatrics whatsoever.

"I like it," Fagin replied, with a little chuckle. "Nice strong name that. Short for William, I'd imagine, eh, my dear?"

"Don't call me that or I'll rip yer limbs off." Bill's hands were clenched, his voice uncharacteristically low and menacing, his eyes narrowed. William was his father's name, a name he never wanted to hear again.

Fagin blanched. "Whatever you say, my dear. Whatever you say." In truth, even with those ten words, the scrawny boy had chilled the old man to the core. It frightened him how the boy could look so normal one moment and furious the next.

Bill folded his arms across his chest, now silently fuming at the memories the name had forced to resurface. He took a step away from Fagin, his eyes trained on the cobblestones.

There was an awkward pause. Fagin fiddled nervously with his gloves, wondering what to say next.

"Well…"

Bill looked up at the sound of Fagin's voice, his glare still firmly in place.

"I'll see you around my dear…"

Fagin began to scuttle off again, his shoes making an odd scuffling noise on the pavement as he walked. He was soon out of sight, disappearing down another alleyway. Bill shrugged off the odd meeting and was about to go back to sleep, when he felt himself being grabbed roughly from behind. He let out a yell of surprise and tried to squirm free, but whoever had a grip on him was too strong.

"Wot're you doin' outside my house?" hollered the man who'd grabbed him, his voice thick and slurred. Even as Bill struggled he felt blows raining down on him; the man was drunk, but clearly not without strength. "I don't want no beggars 'ere! Get out of it!"

Bill found himself face down on the cobblestones, tasting blood. A new, shriller voice joined the yelling of the man, a sharp reprimand was dealt and a door slammed.

Those were the last sounds Bill heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Poor dear," muttered Fagin, sparing a last withering glance at the drunkard's front door. "Out of 'is mind…" He approached the fallen boy, a small smile twisting his features. "Welcome to Spitalfields, Mister Sykes. Looks like you're coming home with me."

--

**A/N:** Sorry this took me so long to get up; hope you liked it! I certainly did. ^^ Little Bill is fun to write, as is younger Fagin. An interesting meeting, yes?

Please R&R! =)


	3. A Humble Abode

Chapter Two – A Humble Abode

Bill cracked open his eyes, wincing as he was near blinded by sunlight. Shielding his eyes he struggled into a sitting position. The light which had awoken him was streaming through a cracked window opposite; in fact, all the windows in the place were cracked.

Where was he?

As his eyes gradually adjusted to the light, Bill discovered a little more about his present situation. He was in what looked like an enormous attic or loft, with wooden floorboards, stone walls and a sloping ceiling. Here and there across the beams of the roof ropes were strung up; these ropes were coated in silk handkerchiefs, a riot of shape, size and colour.

In the middle of the room was a large wooden table, about which were dotted several chairs. There was an alcove to the far end of the room, separated from the rest of the loft by a tattered curtain. Next to this cordoned off area was another small space; this contained, from what Bill could see, a fireplace and an old writing desk, littered with paper.

Looking in the other direction Bill could see a set of steps beneath a precariously low beam (this one hung with a ragged Union Jack) leading to the door. Beside the door he could just made out a barrel, stuffed with a collection of old walking sticks and umbrellas. On the opposite side of the door stood a coat rack on which hung a number of coats and hats, including those he was sure he'd seen Fagin wearing the previous day.

Bill was perplexed; Fagin had walked off, hadn't he? _I'll see you around, my dear_?

"Awake, I see…"

Bill started. He'd been so absorbed in his strange surroundings that he hadn't noticed Fagin seated at the table. He was eating a steaming plateful of sausages with great aplomb, his grin back in place as he looked at the startled boy.

"W-wot…why am I 'ere? Wot is this place?"

Fagin laughed; a rasping, scraping, wheezing sound that made him sound as if he'd been chewing sandpaper rather than sausages.

"This is nothing more than my humble abode, my dear, my humble abode."

"Tha' don't explain why I'm 'ere! You walked off!"

"That I did, my dear. But I came back. You were takin' a right beatin' from old Tim Evans, let me tell you that!"

Bill ground his teeth; hating the way Fagin made him sound weak. He then recalled the shrill voice and the accusatory tone; it had been Fagin who had forced the drunken man to let him go! Bill stared at him wide-eyed; he looked so thin and frail, surely it couldn't have been him!

Fagin noticed his incredulous expression and laughed all the more, pounding his fist on the table. Eventually his laughter subsided and, wiping a tear of mirth from his eyes, he invited Bill to join him at the table, where he'd set down another plate of food and a mug of gin and water.

Bill soon devoured the food; despite the fact that the sausages tasted a bit off he ate them all just the same. He'd had gin and water many times before; the Sykes' residence choice of beverage, and he clearly amazed Fagin by draining the mug in one go.

"You seem to like the gin, my dear…" Fagin said with a chuckle as he cleared away the plates and mugs.

Bill nodded, his eyes wandering back to the strange room and its collection of silk handkerchiefs. Fagin noticed this and chuckled again; a very merry gentleman indeed.

"I see you're a-strain' at the pocket handkerchiefs, eh, my dear?"

Bill nodded again. "You stole 'em then?" he asked matter of factly, referring to Fagin's stealing of the food.

Surprisingly, Fagin didn't seem scared of the question. Indeed, he seemed to relish it. "That's right, my dear. Each and every one. After a few years they're bound to add up, and they do make the place look a little nicer."

It was Bill's turn to laugh now, although in a somewhat guarded manner. Who was this lunatic? He pinched handkerchiefs for a living!

"You live 'ere on your own then?" he asked, gesturing to the loft. It was, he now realized, a very large space, especially for such a slight man as Fagin.

Fagin nodded, tugging his pipe from his pocket and lighting it. "Indeed I do, my dear…that is, unless you intend to stay?"

Bill wasn't sure what to say to that. The man had rescued him and taken him in, certainly, but there was something about him that Bill didn't like.

Maybe it was the crafty gleam in his eye or the way his fingers kept twitching of their own accord, as if he was practicing pickpocketing thin air.

Maybe it was the fact that during the course of their first meeting Fagin had woken him up and slammed him against a wall.

Maybe it was the fact he'd tried to blame Bill for something Bill hadn't done (at least, not until he was out of sight).

Maybe it was the fact that he'd called him by his father's name.

Bill may have been born and raised in a bad part of town with all sorts of shady characters and he may have only been ten years of age…but this man, Fagin…Bill could tell he wasn't to be trusted. He wouldn't stay here a minute longer than necessary.

At length, Fagin extinguished his pipe and got to his feet, donning his hat and making to leave the flat. Bill frowned after him as he made his way to the door, without offering even a word of explanation. He picked up Fagin's abandoned pipe and wondered momentarily if he'd be able to nick one of his own…

"Where you goin'?" he asked Fagin as the man proceeded towards the door.

"Out, Bill, my dear. To work."

With that, Fagin shut the door behind him and scuttled down the worn old steps of the canal bridge, intending to hitch a hackney cab to the centre of town. He wasn't sure what to do about Bill…did he want him to hang around? Or should he let him go his own way?

Bill frowned after Fagin as he scurried off, leaving him alone in the flat. Now, he realized, would be the perfect time to get out of here. He hurried to the door and pulled…but it was locked. Fagin had locked him in! Had he guessed he might want to escape? Was he still paranoid that Bill would run off and tell the police about him? He had half a mind to now, after this!

He returned to the table and poured himself another mugful of gin, 'forgetting' to add the water. He downed it in one gulp and then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, decided to take the opportunity to explore the flat further (what else was there to do?).

In the two hours that Fagin was gone, Bill discovered that Fagin had two cupboards full of bottles (some full, some half empty, some broken), a vast collection of mugs, tankards and glasses, several packs of playing cards, two pairs of shoes, a stuffed owl, an array of cooking utensils and a grand total of fifty three handkerchiefs. Yes, he'd been bored enough to count them.

He was just about to look for hidden trapdoors (who knew with this bloke?) when the door creaked open and Fagin came in again, humming merrily to himself. Noticing Bill creeping about on all fours, Fagin raised an eyebrow.

"Lost something, my dear?" he asked, beginning to empty his pockets onto the table; three handkerchiefs, five wallets and a bag of what smelt like currant buns.

"No…" Bill said awkwardly, getting to his feet, not sure what else to say.

Fagin frowned and began stringing up the new handkerchiefs.

Bill swiped a bun from Fagin's paper bag while the man was distracted, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. He grinned inwardly at what the odd man had unknowingly taught him.

"Why'd you lock me in, Fagin?" he asked, after a pause. "Why didn't you let me come out to work wiv ya?"

"I did?" Fagin asked, looking confused. "I locked you in, did I? I don't recall doing that, my dear, not in the slightest!" His tone was innocent and friendly, a bemused smile on his face, but these emotions didn't meet his eyes. He was suspicious, and Bill knew it.

Bill nodded again, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. It didn't matter now.

He would escape tonight.

--

**A/N:** Hope you all liked this chapter. ^^ Yes, Fagin has a stuffed owl. Why? Because he can.

Please R&R! :3


	4. A Flit & A Dicovery

Chapter Three – A Flit & A Discovery

Bill's first 'official' evening at Fagin's had been surprisingly uneventful. The two of them sat by the fire awhile, a mug of gin each; Fagin busily calculating something in a battered old book. They'd then played several rounds of cards, Fagin always won, though narrowly. Bill was pretty good, and would soon be a match for him. That is, he would be. If he stayed. Which he wouldn't.

It was now eleven o clock; Bill had heard the steeple clock chime the hour. Fagin had gone to bed long ago; Bill discovered that his quarters lay beyond the ragged curtain. He'd seemed in a pleasant mood all evening, all apparent traces of suspicion gone. This had happened at the wrong time; Bill had filched the key to the flat from Fagin's coat pocket (said coat being tossed lazily on the table as Fagin busied himself with his account book) and had formulated a plan of escape.

Quietly as he could, Bill extricated himself from his blanket and pulled the key from his pocket. Grinning wickedly to himself, he tiptoed towards the door. Many of the floorboards squeaked in protest as he stepped on them; he cursed inwardly for not having done a more thorough floorboard check earlier. He managed to duck in time to avoid the low beam emblazoned with the flag of Great Britain, though only just, and soon found himself at the door. Triumphantly, he shoved the key in the lock and turned it.

The door remained locked.

Bill tried again, but with the same result.

If things at Fagin's weren't already perplexing enough…Bill felt as though he'd walked into some strange dream-like world where nothing was as it seemed. If this wasn't the key to the front door, then what was it a key to? The gin cupboard? A desk drawer?

"Leaving so soon, my dear?"

Bill jumped a foot in the air, nearly dropping the key with fright. This was definitely some alternate reality; Fagin was fast asleep, wasn't he? The boy turned slowly around, attempting to meet Fagin's eyes with defiance. All confidence vanished at the expression on Fagin's face; the man was livid.

"Would you be so kind as to hand that back, my dear?" asked Fagin, palm outstretched for the key. He was advancing on Bill now, his eyes narrowed. Bill instinctively backed away, clutching the key tightly in his fist. But this, he soon came to realize, was a stupid idea. He was backed against the door, with no escape.

Gingerly, he handed the key to Fagin. The man snatched it up and looked it over, his expression changing from furious to petrified and back again.

"Where…where did you get t-this?" he stammered, eyes flickering from the small key to Bill's face. It was only now that the key was in Fagin's hand that Bill realized; the key was far too small to fit the door. Too small for the gin cupboard, or even one of the desk drawers. What was it a key for?

"Your coat pocket," he managed to reply, trying to make himself sound menacing in the face of Fagin's fear. "That'll teach you to leave your coat lying around won't it? 'Specially with your keys in it!"

Fagin hurriedly stuffed the key into the pocket of his waistcoat, now glowering at Bill. He studied the boy a moment, as if debating his next move, clenching and unclenching his fists. Bill stared defiantly back at him as if daring him to try anything, his arms folded across his chest. The curiosity he felt about the key was excruciating; why was Fagin so worried about him having it? And if it was so important, why had he left it in his coat pocket, where any self-respecting thief could get at it?

_Smack!_

Bill reeled backwards, his cheek burning. Before he even had time to gather his thoughts, Fagin grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him towards the alcove at the back of the den, the one with the gin cupboard, writing desk and old fireplace. There must have been a door there that Bill hadn't cared to notice in his earlier explorations; Fagin shoved him roughly into the alcove and slammed it, plunging Bill into darkness.

Seconds later, Bill heard the scrape of a key in the lock and Fagin's muttered curses as he scurried away. Bill himself cursed, and loudly too. What was Fagin playing at, locking him up in here? Was he really that angry that he'd tried to escape, that he'd accidentally taken a special key instead of the one for the front door?

Bill squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the gloom. He felt about, groping with his hands, trying to find the chair that had been here earlier…cupboard, fireplace, desk, wall…

A strange scraping noise accosted Bill's ear as he scrabbled at the wall, trying to get his balance. The brick was loose! No wonder in this place…But this only served to pique the boy's curiosity further. A loose brick could mean a hiding place, couldn't it? There had been lots of loose-bricked and loose-floorboard hiding places for William Sykes' stolen goods, certainly. Who was to say Fagin didn't use the same method?

No longer caring for the gloom, Bill pulled the brick from the wall and felt about in the gap. Nothing. No…wait…the next brick was loose too! And the one above it!

Biting his lip to keep back a devilish little chuckle, Bill quickly lifted the loose bricks. The gap was much larger now; and there was something nestled there, in the dust and grime! Scarcely able to believe his luck, Bill tugged the object from its hiding place. It was a small wooden box of a plain design, with a handle on the lid…

And a minute keyhole in the centre.

Bill gasped. Was this box what the key was for? What was in it? Eagerly, Bill felt in his pocket for the key before remembering that he'd given it to Fagin. Why had he handed it over? If he hadn't he would have been able to open the box…if he hadn't he would never have discovered the box in the first place.

He reached up a hand to touch his cheek and winced. It still hurt, even now. Had Fagin's niceties all been a sham? Was he just another drunk bully? He'd stank of gin the first time Bill met him, and he'd just hit him too…

To try and distract himself from these dismal thoughts, Bill held the small box to his ear and shook it. It was quite light but the sound it made was deafening in the silence of the flat; a chorus of rattling, jangling and clinking.

More curious than ever, Bill tried to prize the lid off the box but, as he expected, to no avail. But it didn't matter. He reckoned he'd have plenty of time to open the box if he was going to be trapped here for awhile.

--

Meanwhile, in his quarters, Fagin was mulling over the situation at hand. Bill had managed to nick the key to his box; he'd definitely have to keep it in a safer place in future. But he'd managed to nick the key all the same…

"Interesting…" Fagin muttered, drumming his fingers on his desk. "Very interesting…"

In fact, Mister Fagin Esquire had just had an idea.

One of his more brilliant ones.

--

**A/N:** I had to tweak the set to suit my dramatic purposes. XD

Apologies to any diehard fans of the 1968 Fagin's Den movie set.

Please R hope it's living up to your expectations. =)


	5. Broken Glass

Chapter Four – Broken Glass

The next morning dawned bright and early. Bill had finally found the chair and curled up to sleep, still fraught with curiosity about Fagin's box even as he drifted off. He was wide awake now though and pacing the room, filled with a sense of renewed hope for escape. He had easy access to the box, didn't he? Surely he could threaten Fagin with it somehow, so the man would let him go? On that note, why had he locked Bill in here if he knew this was where the box was?

Pleased with himself, Bill sauntered over to the gin cupboard. Clearly Fagin hadn't been thinking straight last night; leaving Bill not only with his precious box but with a cupboard full (well, half full) of gin to boot? The boy pulled a bottle from the cupboard and took a big gulp of the spirit, snatching up one of the shards of broken glass as an afterthought.

It felt much safer having a weapon in his hand.

This done he felt about in his pocket, finding, to his immense satisfaction, the currant bun he'd pinched from Fagin the day before. He quickly ate it, washing it down with another large mouthful of gin. Living in this cramped little room wouldn't be so bad…

Moments later this thought fled his mind; Fagin had unlocked the door and entered; a scarily cheerful expression on his face despite the events of the previous night. He didn't speak a word to Bill as he set about cooking his breakfast. Bill didn't say anything either, clutching the shard of glass in his pocket just in case. But Fagin didn't seem in a violent mood; far from it. He was singing to himself as he toasted bread, something about picking pockets.

Eventually the food was cooked and Fagin placed the plate on the table before scurrying to retrieve his gin. He chuckled as he picked up one of the bottles, bringing it over to the table and pouring himself a glass.

"I see you've been at the gin, my dear…"

Bill stared. How on Earth had Fagin known that? Did he memorize the contents of each bottle every evening or what? This place just got stranger and stranger…

"Well…yeah, I have…" Bill managed to reply, not liking Fagin's devious expression. Why was he so cheerful this morning? Last night he'd looked mad enough to kill! He probably _was_ mad enough to kill.

Fagin must have noticed Bill's guilty expression, for the next question he posed wasn't in so light-hearted a tone.

"What are you looking so worried about, my dear?" he asked.

Bill clenched the glass in his pocket ever tighter. The man's attempt at kindliness and sympathy set his teeth on edge. What are you looking so worried about indeed! Maybe I'm worried because you're a violent drunken maniac?

"If this is about last night, my dear, I-"

Fagin broke off, looking over Bill's shoulder. Bill turned to look for himself and bit back a furious curse. He'd forgotten to replace one of the loose bricks from the box's hiding place. Would nothing ever go the way he wanted? Why had he been born under such an unlucky star?

Fagin, for his part, wasn't sure what to do. Should he stay calm for the good of the plan? Or, he thought, should he fly off the handle, as he had every right to? Bill had surely discovered his box; something he wanted to keep hidden, for his eyes only… The bricks were completely inconspicuous, weren't they? The room had been pitch black, hadn't it, save for some moonlight? How on Earth had Bill found it? What was happening?

"W-what…h-how…" he stammered; these being the only words that came to mind. He didn't seem to be able to decide between calm and fury, settling on perplexed horror as a reasonable alternative.

Bill, in those fleeting moments, seemed to have regained some of his former confidence.

"Yeah, that's right Fagin. I found yer box. Wot're you hidin'?"

"N-nothing that concerns you, my dear…" Fagin too was beginning to regain his usual authority and trying his best to salvage the situation.

"Nothin' that concerns me, eh?" snarled Bill, taking a step towards Fagin, the glass still clutched in his fist. "An' why's tha'?"

"Because!" snapped Fagin, unable to come up with a better answer, struggling to keep his voice from shaking in the face of the young boy's sudden fury. He didn't like being so intimidated by Bill but it was hard not to be. "Because it isn't!"

Bill rolled his eyes. Very eloquent.

"D-don't you roll your eyes at me, Bill Sykes!" snapped Fagin, still trying to regain control.

Bill laughed. Fagin attempting to be disciplinary was amusing; the boy seemed to have completely forgotten the previous night and how disciplinary Fagin had been then. Maybe it was because Fagin was afraid Bill would do something to his precious box that made him so afraid to do anything? This was the truth in fact, but Fagin was unaware Bill had realized it.

"Look Bill…let's just…calm down, shall us?"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?" All traces of laughter were gone from Bill's face now; he pulled the glittering shard from his pocket, causing Fagin to shrink back and nearly fall from his chair in fright. "Oh yeah, you're the one who should be sayin' calm down; after wot you did last night! You didn't 'calm down' then, did ya?"

Fagin bit his lip, but then he scowled. Who was he to be frightened by a mere child? He got to his feet, scarcely a head taller than his opposition…not a comforting thought.

"I had every reason not to calm down, _my dear_. You took my key from right under my nose!"

"You should be more careful then, shouldn't yer?"

"What does being careful have to do with anything?"

"You'll get nabbed by the traps if you ain't careful! You'll end up in the clink if you ain't careful!"

Fagin ground his teeth; Bill had a point. As their argument progressed, Bill continued to advance on Fagin with the glass in his hand; Fagin continued to step backwards despite himself. As they neared the fireplace however, Fagin snatched up the toasting fork. This caught Bill by surprise and he dropped the glass; it shattered on the floor into millions of tiny crystals.

There was a moment's silence.

Then…

"Let me go, will ya? Why're you keepin' me prisoner 'ere; wot do you want wiv me?"

Fagin sighed resignedly. So much for the plan. But then…he'd let the boy go, certainly, but he'd soon get him back again. After the display with Tim Evans, Fagin guessed Bill wouldn't last long without him. Oh, what a clever dog he was!

He replaced the toasting fork and pulled the key to the flat from his pocket. Bill's face lit up at the sight of it and Fagin felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach; regret? Pity? Was he really sorry to see the boy go? But then…this wasn't goodbye after all…

He steered Bill to the front door and unlocked it; it was the first time Bill had been outside since the night Fagin had brought him here. The smog tainted air smelt of freedom.

"There you are, my dear…" said Fagin, fighting back a grin. "Farewell."

Bill could hardly believe it; his luck was turning surely! Unable to contain a grin he hurried from the den; he wasn't about to waste his time figuring out an appropriate goodbye for the lunatic.

As Bill hurried away, Fagin waved him off, cackling to himself.

"Cheerio for now, my dear," he muttered. "I'm sure you'll be back soon."

--

**A/N:** Couldn't help tossing a few song references in there. XD

How does Fagin plan to get Bill back? And what is this brilliant plan of his we keep hearing about?

You'll see in future chapters, won't you? =P

Please R&R, or I'll set Fagin on you with a toasting fork!


	6. A Proposition

Chapter Five – A Proposition 

If there was one thing Fagin knew it was that, in this life, you had to be tough to survive. And young Mister Sykes wasn't tough, he couldn't survive. Not yet. He'd see how he did and, if everything went as Fagin expected it to go, there would be hope for the lad yet. He'd leave him alone, for a week or two…long enough for him to learn a lesson but not long enough (he hoped) that he would find the boy murdered in an alleyway.

That wouldn't be at all convenient.

--

Bill muttered furious curses as he limped down the alley, wiping blood hurriedly from a cut on his lip. What had possessed him that he should try and take a half empty gin bottle from a slumbering drunk?

His pace slowed as his legs trembled beneath him. He'd barely been able to steal enough food these past few days and his throat was parched and dry from lack of drink. Not that alcohol would do him any good in this state; he was weak, shivering and delirious from hunger. But by this stage he didn't care…anything to rid him of this pain in his empty stomach, the cruel throbbing of his heat, the frantic pounding of his heart…

--

Fagin sighed and shook his head, sadly, watching as Bill slumped to the cobblestones in a dead faint. Dear dear… Things weren't going well, and not just for the boy in the alleyway. Fagin himself wasn't able to pick as much as he used to, what with winter drawing on, the cold air keeping the toffs inside and driving the poor to find shelter… And yet, he still held out hope. Bill Sykes showed potential, he showed promise…

--

How long had it been since Fagin let him go? A week? Two? Bill didn't know. He no longer cared; he no longer missed the place. He'd never thought he would miss it, but in those first few days, alone and vulnerable, he'd wished he'd never left. But not now. He'd managed to make quite a name for himself, even at his tender age.

He'd learnt.

--

Fagin watched, amused, as Bill downed yet another bottle of gin. His fourth that day. It didn't affect him the way he used to if he had too much; he no longer stumbled about, bumping into people and getting into fights. He still got into fights, certainly. He seemed to enjoy them; those he won, at least. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sight to watch, with all the blood and cursing, but watch them Fagin did. Quite the violent character was young Bill Sykes. Quite the violent character.

--

Bill looked furtively about, left and right. No-one had noticed him; why should they? Just another street urchin. Quick as a flash he slipped his hand into the man's back pocket, emerging triumphant once again with a good heavy wallet. The man hadn't even noticed! He tucked it inside his waistcoat, hurriedly running off before the man could turn.

He wound his way back through the now familiar alleyways, managing to nick himself some scraps of bread along the way. He'd managed sleeping on the streets; careful to avoid doorsteps. If anyone tried to disturb him, vulnerable little boy that he first appeared, they were in for an unwelcome surprise.

For the past night or two, however, Bill had begun to feel…watched, somehow. At first he'd shrugged the feeling off, assuming it was the natural awareness of the traps at every street corner. But the feeling still persisted, even when he found himself in alleyways he was fairly certain no policeman would dare to venture.

Fagin had noticed this, for of course it was he for whom Bill was on the alert, not that the lad knew it. The time had come, Fagin decided. There was no doubt in his mind that the plan would work; Bill was perfect. He'd been dubious at first, seeing the lad taking such beatings, but he'd toughened up, certainly. Oh, he was a clever dog, very clever indeed.

--

Bill had just found himself what he believed to be a good sleeping spot and was, therefore, about to settle down for the night, when a figure caught his eye, on the opposite side of the narrow street. It was hard to make anything out what with the fog that deigned itself necessary in the city at this time of year, but this man was unmistakable.

_Fagin._

Should he approach him? Or should he just ignore him and go to sleep? Bill would have ordinarily chosen the latter, but he sensed the man's ferret eyes following him and decided to make it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him, give him what for. That mingled expression of shiftiness and triumph was un-nerving.

"Wot're you doin' 'ere?"

Fagin raised an eyebrow.

"Is idling in alleyways a crime now, my dear?"

"Why're you watchin' me, Fagin?"

The man chuckled, showing his crooked teeth. Of course Bill might've guessed it was him. There were no traps to be seen, not down this alley.

"As a matter of fact, my dear, I've come with a proposition."

It was Bill's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh really? An' wot might tha' be?"

It must be a trick of Fagin's; no matter what he said, Bill found himself intrigued. He had an aura of cleverness about him, quickness and wit, and made the sort of conversation that sounded important and worth his while. He was happy with the life he was leading now, but he might be prepared to consider what Fagin said…might.

"It's simple. I would like you to come and work for me."

Bill frowned.

"Wot d'you mean?"

Fagin rolled his eyes, than mentally smacked himself. Rolling your eyes at the customer wasn't likely to help matters.

"I've seen you picking pockets, my dear…" he said excitedly. "You're brilliant, my dear; a natural. In case you haven't noticed I'm getting on a bit, and I'm not as good a hand as I once was. The long and short of it is, my dear, if we're both to survive, we're going to need some sort of income. And what better source of income than rich toffs pockets?"

Bill nodded, that much was true.

"So wot you're sayin' is, you want me to come an' pick pockets for you."

"Basically."

"Wot's in it fer me?"

"I'm coming to that, my dear. If you pick pockets for me I'll give you a roof over your head, food in your stomach, all the gin you could want, finances allowing. No more sleeping on the streets, worrying about where your next meal will come from, no more huddling under your coat to keep warm, no more thinking you'll be murdered in your sleep…"

Alright, so not all of this was strictly true. But he was making a business proposal; surely he was allowed _some_ artistic and creative license? Yes, that he was.

Bill stared up at Fagin, not sure how to think of this. A tempting offer…but after what Fagin had done? He was bound to be furious after Bill had stolen the key to his box…He'd still hit him, hadn't he?

But now he could fight back.

"At the risk of sounding cl…cli…at the risk of sounding just like everyone else…do we have a deal?" Fagin held out a gloved hand for Bill to shake, a small smile on his face. _Come on_, he thought, willing Bill to take the bait. _It isn't that hard…just-_

Bill shook Fagin's hand, his grip strong and firm, alarmingly so.

Fagin chuckled.

"You've made a good choice, my dear, a good choice. An excellent choice in fact. If you go on the way you've started you'll be the greatest man of all time. I'm sure of it, my dear."

Bill grinned.

_The greatest man of all time._

It had a ring to it.

--

**A/N**: The word Fagin's looking for is clichéd. XD

Please R here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter and it lived up to your expectations. Crafty, Mister Fagin is.


	7. Question & Answer

Chapter Six – Question & Answer

As Fagin and Bill proceeded back to the flat, Fagin asked (although he knew) what Bill had been doing with himself these past two weeks. The boy answered truthfully for the most part, with some major embellishments with regards to the fights he'd engaged in, which amused Fagin greatly. He didn't let on that he'd seen everything firsthand of course; what purpose would that serve?

As he and Bill arrived back at the den, the moon was just beginning to peer through the clouds. Fagin glanced at his pocket watch; a quarter past ten. Fagin detested winter; it got dark so early now, meaning less people about, meaning less pockets to be picked…oh, it was a cruel world, so it was.

"Did I say that out loud?" Fagin asked, noticing Bill's quizzical look.

"Yeah, you did."

"Oh."

The door was unlocked, and Fagin ushered Bill inside. The loft was especially cozy tonight, with a fire in the grate casting a warm red glow across the floorboards, and a pot of coffee whistling on the stove. Fagin hurried off to attend to it, while Bill sat himself down at the table, amazed as ever with the loft's staggering amount of silk handkerchiefs.

_Fifty three_.

He had to ask Fagin why he pinched handkerchiefs when there were plenty good wallets. That was in fact one of many questions burning in the mind of young Bill Sykes; some he felt could wait and some he felt couldn't. For now he was perfectly content to just to sit there and soak up the warmth of the fire; surely he must have been mad to want to escape from this place? It was only now he realized just how cold the streets had been and, frighteningly, how used he'd become to them.

"Here you are, my dear!" said Fagin triumphantly, placing a chipped mug of coffee before the boy. Normally he'd just drink it out of the pot but this was not one of those times. He and Bill had to talk business and therefore it followed that the coffee should be in the best mugs. Best meaning somewhat chipped.

Bill smiled gratefully; the mug was hot to the touch, pleasing after the cold streets. To tell the truth, Bill had only had coffee once and that had been a mistake, so he wasn't at all used to the scalding beverage, nor it's after effects. Having taken a larger gulp than necessary he was obliged to indulge in a fit of watery eyed coughing for a moment or two, a performance which caused Fagin to bite back a grin. He waited until it had subsided, then attempted to start the conversation he deemed necessary.

"Now then Bill, my dear, there's a few things we need to hammer out-"

"I thought-"

"Let me finish, please."

Bill fell silent, taking another, smaller sip of his coffee. He couldn't say that he liked it; it was very gritty and far too hot, but he wasn't about to let this on to Fagin, not after he'd taken him in again. The state of the coffee was trivial compared to the job he was about to undertake at any rate.

"Let's see now…you're to go out every morning my dear, to the centre of town, and pick some prime pockets until about three, all right? Just go from here to The Three Cripples; there's always a hackney cab or two you can hitch a ride from…Of course, in return for your services, you'll have a warm bed, food, clothes and everything else, free of charge. And don't think you won't actually get wages, my dear…I've got a neat little sum set aside for anything of particular value that you bring back. Here's a shilling for you to start us off." He fished a small silver coin from his purse and handed it to Bill with a small smile. "I don't charge interest."

Bill plucked the coin from Fagin's fingers with a grin of his own, tossing it into the air and catching it in his hand again. He was pleased, very much so. This offer of Fagin's sounded too good to be true! There was just one problem…

"Wot's The Three Cripples, Fagin? Do you want me to nick handkerchiefs? Why them; are they valuable or summit? Are we gonna go on the job together? If we're startin' off wiv a shillin', 'ow much are we talkin' later on? Wot d'you mean by 'anythin' of particular value'?"

All right, so maybe more than one.

Fagin cackled with laughter at Bill's tirade of questions, narrowly avoiding spraying the boy with the coffee he'd had in his mouth when the boy began. Hurriedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he managed to stop himself from laughing and compose himself to speak.

"One at a time, my dear, one at a time!" he spluttered, risking another sip of coffee. Bill's mug seemed nearly untouched; curious…

Bill shot Fagin an apologetic glance before posing his first inquiry again.

"Wot's The Three Cripples?"

Fagin chuckled inwardly. Bill would see soon enough.

"The Three Cripples is an establishment not too far from here, my dear-"

"Wot sort of an 'establishment', Fagin? An ale 'ouse or what?" Fagin must have forgotten that Bill had spent the last few weeks flitting about such places.

"That's right, my dear, an ale house. Lovely place, lovely people, lots of gin…you know."

Bill grinned. Lots of gin sounded right up his alley.

"Why 'andkerchiefs? You've got fifty three of 'em!"

"Fifty six, actually!" Fagin said, whipping three more brightly coloured silk squares from his coat pockets like a magician and dropping them on the table. "The reason I like to pick up handkerchiefs, my dear, is quite simple, yet many people don't realize the beauty of it."

Fagin spoke as if he were a philosopher, imparting wise words into the minds of the foolhardy. "You see, Bill, the toffs have these here handkerchiefs as a symbol of their status, the fancier the better. Of course, that means they sell pretty well, don't it?"

He grinned, picking up one of the handkerchiefs and showing it to Bill. Two letters, JM, were stitched into the corner of the fabric. "Course, we have to pick out these here marks before we sell 'em off…otherwise people'd figure out where they came from. That would be…bad."

Bill nodded. There did seem to be a point in nicking them then.

"So why d'you still 'ave fifty…six, Fagin? Why 'aven't you sold 'em?"

"I've told you before my dear, they make the place look nice. Do they not?"

Bill nodded again. They did give the loft a little something; not that he was by any means an expert in décor. But yes, they were nice.

"Any more questions before I continue, my dear?"

Bill nodded, wondering what Fagin meant by continue. What more was there to say? They'd sorted out what had to be sorted out, hadn't they?

"One last one. Wot d'you mean, things of particular value?"

"Anything you bring back that's particularly special, my dear. A snuffbox, a pocketwatch, that sort of thing. Is that all you wanted to know?"

Bill replied in the affirmative.

"One last thing that _I_ need to say, my dear, is this. Something very important before you goes out on any jobs for me. Listen carefully now."

Bill sat up straighter in his chair, his face set, a sense of pride and importance welling up in his chest. He loved how that sounded; he would be going out on jobs; he would be doing what he did best, and getting paid for it too! That was more than William Sykes Senior could boast of.

Fagin coughed importantly, as if he were about to start a speech.

"There's one thing you must be very clear of, my dear. You are now no longer a mere street urchin, you are now in my employ. As such, you must never, for any reason, breathe one word about me, or this place or anything of that sort to anyone, you understand? Even if, as I highly doubt, you end up caught with the hangman's noose around your neck, you must never, ever speak a word! Not even if you face the drop! _Do you understand_?"

The man said these words with such fierceness and violence of temper that Bill, for all his newfound courage, was taken about, almost toppling off his chair. He managed to somehow keep his composure and stared rigidly at Fagin as the latter wrung his hands agitatedly in his lap.

"Y-yes Fagin…I understand…" he said, reaching out a somewhat tentative hand for his benefactor to shake.

Fagin smiled toothily and shook the hand of his young charge.

"I knew you would, my dear, I knew you would, fine fellow that you are." He ruffled Bill's hair affectionately, as a beloved father would his son, before leading the boy off to bed. As he turned to retire to his own quarters, he was verbally waylaid once again by Bill.

"'Ey Fagin? Will you teach me tha' song you wos singin' before; the pickpocketin' one?"

Fagin chuckled.

"Certainly, my boy. No fee."

--

**A/N:** Sorry it's taken me so long to update, but this was a nice long chapter so I hope we're all even. XD

I'm really enjoying writing this story, a major thank you to my dear Nancy Buddy Katarina Sparrow 19 for all the inspiration and the faith you have in me. Many thanks and muffins of brilliance also to my dear Coralyne, who has faithfully reviewed all my Oliver Twist tales thus far. I love you guys! :3

R&R one and all!


	8. On The Job

Chapter Seven – On The Job

As the sun rose over the city of London, it soon found itself masked by a sheet of grey cloud, threatening rain. But the dismal weather had no effect on the excited mood hovering about Fagin's humble abode since the previous night. He and Bill had both slept with smiles on their faces, and now the first day of Bill's going on the job had dawned.

Bill had been awake since the hours of early light, anxiously pacing the flat waiting for Fagin. At about seven o' clock the man emerged from his alcove, yawning but still managing a smile. He truly was a genius; he had to congratulate himself on that.

"You seem raring to go this morning, my dear!" he said with a laugh as he set about making breakfast.

Bill nodded with childish eagerness. He was going to be the best pickpocket London had ever seen; he would steal all sorts of treasures and get hugely rewarded and be able to buy all the gin he wanted…

"Breakfast, my dear!" Fagin called a few minutes later, breaking Bill from his daydream. He hurried to the table and began wolfing down his food, seemingly without pause for breath. It felt so good to eat well again, even if, as before, the sausages tasted a bit strange. Maybe it was how Fagin cooked them?

He would have asked, but now wasn't the time. It was time to go out on the job!

"I'll accompany you to the Cripples this morning, my dear…" Fagin said, pulling on his coat. "There's an acquaintance of mine I need to meet."

Bill had no objections and he and Fagin had soon set off in that direction. The pub was not far indeed from Fagin's house, only a minute or so's walk. It was a rather squat and rickety looking place near the waterside, accessible from most directions by bridges. Even at this early hour the doors were flung open to admit the clientele; Bill could see all sorts of people and, even from where he and Fagin stood on one of the bridges overlooking the tavern, hear their shouts and screams, laughter and cries for more ale.

Fagin, noticing Bill's awed expression, grinned slyly down at him.

"You like the look of this place, my dear?"

Bill nodded, hurrying ahead of Fagin down the steps and across one of the wooden platforms to the pub, his benefactor having to walk briskly to catch up.

On closer inspection, from the outside at least, The Three Cripples was dirty, smoky and positively reeking of alcohol, with the strong undertone of some sort of cheap perfume. Bill wrinkled his nose a little at this, causing Fagin's grin to widen. He'd get used to the place soon enough…

"That you Fagin, you sneakin' old villain? I've been waitin' 'ere for 'alf an hour an' no mistake! Where you been, eh?"

Both Fagin and Bill looked to face the speaker; a tall, broad-shouldered brute with a sweaty red complexion and a balding head, an expression on his face that could frighten even the strongest and bravest of men. No wonder Fagin quailed a little at the sight of him.

"Oh…h-hello Tim, my dear…sorry to have kept you waiting…"

Tim… Tim Evans? Could it be? Bill squinted up at him; he certainly looked strong enough (and drunk enough) to have been his assailant on the night Fagin found him.

"Who's the brat Fagin?"

"T-This is Bill, my dear, a new friend of mine…" He wasn't about to let on Bill's true status to Tim Evans yet, or anyone else for that matter, not until after his first job at any rate. "Bill, this is-"

"Tim Evans? Yeah…I know."

Bill didn't want to remind Fagin of his and Tim's previous meeting but it was at that point that Fagin seemed to recall the incident, with a wince.

"Well, this is a chance meeting and no mistake, eh, my dears?" he said with a weak attempt at a relaxed laugh, sensing hostility between his two companions. "But I'm afraid it must be curtailed…Bill, you have a job to do-"

"Wot sorta job Fagin? Wot you doin'?"

"None of your business, Tim, my dear…"

"None of my business?"

Bill was reminded eerily of his and Fagin's argument, where he'd found the box and demanded Fagin tell him what he was hiding. This scenario was getting scarily familiar…Evans took a step towards Fagin and Fagin took a step back…

What happened next was a blur. Evans made a move as if to strike Fagin for his impertinence, Fagin shrank back to avoid the blow and Bill leapt at his attacker, knocking him to the ground. Evans let out a roar of shock and fury and attempted to throw Bill off, but the boy clung on grimly, throwing punch after punch. A few of the customers from the tavern wandered out to see what was going on; a few of the drunker ones cheering and placing bets on who they thought would win; the majority going, surprisingly, to Bill…and for good reason.

"For…gawd's…sake!" Fagin snarled, struggling to pull Bill off of Evans, who was sporting a black eye by this point in the proceedings. "No…violence!"

After a few moments more frantic struggling in which Fagin was jeered at by the onlookers, he managed to pull Bill off. His fierce reprimands were lost on the boy; he was still glowering at Evans who was now struggling back on his feet.

"No need for that…I appreciate it of course but…I'm askin' yer, is it necessary?"

Bill wriggled free of Fagin's grip, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek.

"I 'ave a job to do, Fagin!" he said, his voice low and cold.

Shooting Evans one last contemptuous glance, Bill turned and hurried in the direction of where the morning hackney coaches waited; luckily they'd hung around for a latecomer long enough for Bill to hitch his ride to the town centre.

He tried to shake the incident off; what had possessed him to fight Evans like that? Was he protecting Fagin? Or was he just salivating for blood? The thought scared him a little but try as he might he couldn't rid himself of that feeling; regret, was it? He wasn't sure. He was supposed to be concentrating on the job; he wanted to impress Fagin, didn't he?

The job; picking pockets. That was what mattered. Not some stupid fight with a local drunkard.

Thinking in this vein, Bill soon had three pockets handkerchiefs hidden in various pockets. Fagin was right, they were nice, although two of them had rather heavy 'marks', with lots of elaborate patterns which would have to be painstakingly picked out. Hoping that the fancier the marks the more cash for him, Bill managed to procure another one before nicking himself some grub.

The city clock soon struck half past one; time had flown by. Pocket handkerchiefs were nice…but Bill wanted to find something more impressive, something of better value…

Soon he had five wallets secreted about his person, three of which, he could tell from their weight, were well lined indeed. But even these weren't enough…what was it Fagin had told him the night before?

_A snuffbox, a pocketwatch, that sort of thing…_

A snuffbox Fagin wanted and a snuffbox he'd get. Bill fingered the small trinket in his pocket as he made his way back towards the coach station, marveling at his success, the fight with Evans all but forgotten. This would impress Fagin, surely, a nice engraved little box like this! It'd probably fetch the man a hefty sum, and he would reward Bill greatly in return!

"Fagin?" Bill called, rapping smartly on the locked door of the loft. "Lemmee in, will ya?"

"What's the password, hmm? Can't let you in without it!"

Fagin _sounded_ happier than the last time Bill had seen him, but who could tell how he truly felt?

"Fagin, you never told me anyfink about a password!"

"I didn't? Blast it!"

"Fagin will ya just-"

"Plummy an' Slam!"

"Wot?"

"For future reference!" snapped Fagin, opening the door to let Bill in and closing it behind him with a bang. "Plummy an' Slam. Password. From now on. Remember it."

Bill nodded.

"What've you got then, my dear?"

Fagin sat himself down at the table, and motioned for Bill to do the same, which he did, with apprehension curling in his stomach. He'd been exhilarated about the day's work but now he wasn't so sure; from the look on Fagin's face he clearly hadn't forgotten the morning's little incident. He was sporting a black eye just has Evans had.

Tearing his eyes away from Fagin's face, Bill rifled about in his pockets to retrieve the goods. As each item was placed on the table, Fagin would cackle with laughter and pick it up to examine it. He was especially fond, as Bill had predicted, of the weighty wallets (the cash of which he hastily pocketed).

When Bill produced the snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket, he swore he saw tears of joy in his companion's eyes.

"You're a clever boy, my dear, a very clever boy! I never saw a sharper lad!"

Bill beamed with pride.

"Here's another shilling for you my dear…that's a lovely bit of stuff, my dear, a lovely bit of stuff!"

Fagin flicked the coin to Bill before picking up the snuffbox to examine. "Hmm…George III, mahogany of some sort with gold inlay...I'd say about five shillings…"

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent picking out the marks from the latest handkerchiefs; it took Bill quite a while to get the hang of the needle and thread (and even when he did he kept pricking himself), but Fagin was unexpectedly patient with him.

When they both retired to bed that night, everything seemed as it should be. Fagin had his goods, Bill had his precious two shillings, the tavern brawl was all but a memory…and, even better than all this, both men felt comfortable, safe, happy.

At home.

--

**A/N:** Bill has his first pub brawl! Yay! ^^

I'm such a freak.

Hoping you all enjoyed this chapter and don't think I'm being clichéd (I always worry about that for some reason). =P

R&R…I have mini-Bill at my disposal…you've been warned. XD


	9. Money Matters

Chapter Eight – Money Matters

The following few days passed in very much the same way; Bill would go out and steal as much as he pleased, returning to Fagin with the day's hoard, which the man would then reward him for (Bill was always certain to nick something 'of particular value' to get his shillings). They were both happy and content with the way things were working out.

Until one afternoon when things took a turn for the worse.

It was bound to happen eventually, it was an inevitable occurrence, and they both knew it. But neither of them had expected it to occur so soon.

Bill had been out on the job since eight that morning and had only managed to pick up a couple of handkerchiefs and one, lonely wallet. The frost and ice were thick upon the pavements as the city descended into winter, and not many of the rich folk were willing to brave the cold, preferring to stay indoors beside their blazing fires, steaming mugs in their hands, feet propped on plush footstools.

Fagin's young employee was fast growing frustrated with the lack of prime plants about the streets; it was two o' clock and he had hardly anything to show for it! Grumbling to himself, he meandered down the pavement, hands in his pockets, glancing fervently about for any signs of something special to nick for Fagin. He'd never failed to bring back such an item; he now had eight shillings in total to his name. He wasn't sure what he was saving them for, surely he could steal whatever he wanted, but it was nice to have those silver coins at his disposal. Fagin and his penny-pinching ways were already beginning to rub off on him.

Spotting a likely candidate for needing his pockets lightened at last, Bill made his way nonchalantly across the road, trying to hurrying but appear calm at the same time; no easy feat. The man hadn't noticed his approach; he was too engrossed in talking to the shop owner, a man whose nose was red raw from cold.

Quickly as he could, Bill reached his hand into the man's back pocket, extracting his wallet before setting off at a run. He didn't stop until he reached the coach station and hitched a lift back, an hour later, as it turned out, than usual.

He thought nothing of it until he knocked on the door and whispered the password; he was greeted by a rather harried looking Fagin, pocketwatch in hand, glowering in his direction.

"You're late back," he said, in a disgruntled manner.

"Sorry…" said Bill, though he wasn't really. Was it his fault the toffs kept to their houses? He couldn't blame them.

He was eager to get to the fireside with a mug of gin, but Fagin stopped him before he even took a few paces in that direction.

"Let's see what took you so long, my dear…"

He didn't sound as excited as usual, in fact his words sounded greatly like a threat. Reckoning he couldn't have felt more apprehensive if he'd tried, Bill gingerly extracted the day's loot from his pockets; three handkerchiefs (all marked) and the two wallets. He realized as he handed them over, a sinking feeling in his stomach, that they were very light to the touch; not well lined at all…

As Fagin opened the wallets to examine their contents Bill lowered his eyes to the tabletop, not wanting to meet Fagin's gaze. He heard the man's sharp intake of breath and, seconds later, a frustrated and furious sigh.

"Half empty wallets?" he muttered, his tone disbelieving. "_Half empty wallets?!_" Fagin's voice had gone from disappointed to furious in a matter of seconds. He threw the limp items in question onto the tabletop with great force, jumping to his feet and rounding on Bill.

"I expected better of you, _my dear!_ Spending an hour longer than usual out, causing me great worry and anxiety, thinking you might've gotten caught and for what? Wallets without even two guineas to rub together!"

Bill sensed the blow was coming before it was actually struck, but that didn't stop it stinging like salt in an open wound. The force of it knocked him off his chair; he gritted his teeth to stop himself yelling out loud as he staggered back onto his feet. Fagin looked angry enough to strike again; Bill hurried forwards and dealt him as a hard a blow as he could before Fagin could do anything more. Unfortunately for Bill this action only served to incense Fagin more and soon the pair of them were fighting tooth and nail like wild dogs, only stopping when Fagin managed to throw Bill off before threatening to take away his wages (he knew all along where the boy hid them).

The fight over, with as much bruising of egos as limbs, Fagin stormed from the flat, locking Bill inside once again. He needed a stiff drink, and he wasn't likely to get that at the den now, not with Bill around. He found himself limping on the way to the Cripples…this newfound violence in his young charge was quite alarming, and Fagin couldn't say he liked it.

Back at the den, Bill, having vented what was left of his fury of Fagin's stuffed owl, robbed a full gin bottle of its contents before stumbling off to his bed, his head pounding in protest not only from the blows he'd received but from the gin he'd just consumed.

He'd regret it in the morning but just then, in all honesty, he found he didn't care. Serves Fagin right. See him trying to get some well lined wallets with the streets the way they were! See him doing anything at all around here! He expected Bill to do all his work for him did he?

When Fagin returned that night, slightly tipsy, he didn't notice the scattered owl feathers, or the empty bottle of gin. Even in his woozy state, he'd come up with a plan that rendered the state the loft was in irrelevant. He wouldn't have to deal with Bill's aggression any longer if this worked out…he'd simply pass on that that burden to someone else, someone his own size…

Cackling quietly to himself, Mister Fagin Esquire extinguished the fire and tottered off to bed.

In the dark and cold of the attic, Bill lay curled in his blanket; sound asleep, without the slightest idea in his head of what Fagin was planning.

It was better that way. He wouldn't know a thing until Fagin put his latest scheme into action. If he'd known what Fagin's plan was, his dreams that night wouldn't have been so peaceful. In fact, they would have been quite the opposite.

--

**A/N:** Fagin's had another cunning plan; I think you can all guess what it is…Bill isn't going to be very happy!

Please R&R! ^^


	10. Morris

Chapter Nine – Morris

Bill awoke the next day with a ferocious hangover; so strong that it hurt to move his head. He groaned dispiritedly as the wintry sunlight pouring in through the windows hit his eyes, squeezing them tight shut again and rolling over to try and regain unconsciousness.

"_Bill? Bill, for Gawd's sake, wake up!"_

No rest for the wicked.

"Wot?" growled Bill, struggling into a sitting position with great difficulty and attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Can't ya see I'm tryin' to sleep 'ere?"

"I can see that very plainly, my dear, but in case you are unaware (which you obviously are) it's eleven o' clock. Make yourself presentable if you please."

Bill thought it best not to argue with Fagin after last night, and he sullenly did as he was told. He emerged from his part of the loft a few minutes later, only to be greeted with a sight he had most certainly not been expecting.

A boy was seated at the table where Bill usually sat, leaning his chair back on two legs, his cap at a rakish angle atop his unruly mop of blonde curls. He had a clay pipe in between his teeth and was smoking it with the air of a gentleman. Noticing Bill standing there, too shocked to move, the boy expertly returned his chair to all four legs and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes.

"You're Bill Sykes, ain'cha?" he asked.

"Y-yeah…" said Bill, quickly trying to recover his wits. Before he could inquire as to who the boy was and why he was in his seat, his companion let out a bray of childish laughter, cutting off what he had been about to say.

"Tha's funny. From wot Fagin said I thought you'd be taller!"

Bill was, once again, about to retort, when Fagin emerged from the alcove, where he'd been cooking breakfast, a plate of food in either hand.

"I see you two have met…" he said with a smile, depositing the plates onto the table and sitting down himself. "Bill, my dear, won't you come and join us?"

Bill didn't move, his fists clenched at his sides. "Fagin, who the 'ell is tha'?"

Fagin chuckled, snatching the pipe from the newcomer's fingers while he was distracted. "I see we're not quite on first name terms…Bill, this is Morris…Morris, meet Bill."

Bill bit back a laugh. _Morris_. And there he was taunting him for not meeting his expectations of height with a name like that. He made his way over to the table, prompted now more by curiosity than anything.

"Tha' don't tell me a thing Fagin. Who is 'e?"

Fagin bit his lip, unsure what to say. He couldn't reveal his plan, not yet, not so soon. But he had to tell Bill something…

"My dear," he said in a voice of forced calm, like a teacher talking to a rebellious child. "Morris here is your new partner. You'll both be going on the job together. Clear enough for you?"

"Wh-"

"Sit down. Eat your breakfast. Go out on the job. I'll speak to you about this later."

With that, Fagin returned to the alcove, slamming the small door behind him. Bill glowered across the table at Morris and began to savagely attack his food, deciding not to give Morris what for until Fagin was out of earshot.

--

Soon after breakfast the two boys went out on the job as Fagin had instructed. Bill was surprised and irritated to find that Morris was taller than him, if only by a small measure. Unfortunately, this wasn't a detail that Morris missed, and he kept walking on tiptoe to make himself appear even taller.

Although it was eleven o' clock, as had happened the previous day, there weren't many people about. Bill was cheered up slightly by the fact that he had anticipated this and managed to get a lot more for his money than Morris, who complained about the lack of toffs on the streets continually under his breath. Call him hypocritical, but Bill took delight in assuming the air of an all-knowing pickpocket and informing Morris that it was always like this at this time of year.

By three o' clock Bill had managed to procure three wallets (carefully checked after being pinched for quality) and four handkerchiefs; Morris one of the former and two of the latter. Bill had also managed to get his hands on a particularly ornate pocketwatch (goodness knows what its owner was doing out and about on such a day as this) but he wasn't about to let Morris know.

Throughout the day Bill had been able to extract information from Morris about why he was at the den. Earlier that morning, when Bill had been asleep, Fagin had gone out on the job himself and spotted Morris attempting to pick a man's pocket (with little success as he had almost been caught, only to be rescued and consequently returned to the den by the man himself).

Of course, Morris embellished the story to make it seem as if he had picked the pocket no trouble and Fagin had taken him in for his skills. It became clear to Bill that Morris was, for lack of better words, an arrogant and obnoxious prat; this made him feel a little better about the whole situation (maybe Fagin would kick him out for being insufferable?). He could dream.

Their return to flat (in Bill's case at least) was a triumphant one, and Fagin praised both boys for the day's work. However, despite the fact that Morris had not only pinched less than Bill, but also nicked items of less value (his wallet was even emptier than Bill's had been the previous night!) Fagin gave him more credit for his labours, merely commending Bill as having retrieved 'good stuff'. This, of course, didn't please Bill in the slightest and only made Morris more smug and pompous than ever, shooting Bill triumphant glances when Fagin wasn't paying attention.

Was it any wonder that Bill, having at last had enough, leapt at the younger boy and started attacking him with as much ferocity as he had the food at breakfast time?

Needless to say, Morris wasn't much of a fighter, and was soon screaming for Fagin to help him. Fagin did, but Bill noticed a strange look in his eye as he dragged him away from the beaten Morris; triumph, maybe? As always, who knew anything where Fagin was concerned.

"Get to bed Morris," Fagin said, his stern voice not betraying his true feeling of triumph; his theory had proved correct; Bill _did_ take his anger out on the obsequious brat! "Bill, I want a word with you."

Morris stuck his tongue out at Bill as he moved towards his bed, a last attempt at retaliation although it was clear he had lost. Bill did likewise, despite how childish and silly it was, just to get back at the annoying kid.

Fagin grabbed Bill by the arm before he could attempt to irritate Morris further and steered him to the 'kitchen' alcove, closing the door behind him. He sat Bill down at the table before fetching himself and his charge a glass of gin each and sitting down opposite him.

"I assume you're wondering why I brought Morris back, eh, my dear?"

Bill was caught off guard by the question (not to mention the gin); he'd been expecting a fierce reprimand, another fight. He nodded.

"Well…I realized last night, my dear, after our little…disagreement…that it will be hard for just the two of us to bring home enough to keep us in the style to which we have become accustomed…having food in the larder, for example. Winter is always a tricky patch."

Bill nodded again. "So ya brought Morris back to 'elp solve this problem? Two pickpockets are better than one?"

It was Fagin's turn to nod, pleased that Bill had taken so little time to grasp the concept. "Precisely, my dear, precisely."

"So, when winter's over, you'll kick 'im out again? I'm tellin' ya,Fagin, 'e's a complete-"

Fagin held up a hand to silence Bill, biting back a laugh. So Bill didn't like him either. Shame there hadn't been any other lads out and about earlier this morning…but little did Bill know the problem was already reaching crisis level…there was hardly any food left save for a small loaf of bread…even the supplies of gin were running low! _That_ was a crisis if nothing else was.

"I'm…afraid not, my dear. Morris is here to stay. As the others will be, once I find them."

Bill was aghast.

"O-others?"

"Yes. We'll need all the help we can get. And I can't very well just turn them back on the streets again; they could run off to the traps, couldn't they? We can't risk that, my dear, not now…"

Fagin had a point, and Bill knew it. He liked how Fagin said 'we' and not 'I'; it was him and Bill, partners in crime, the rest of the boys yet to come were just that, others, mere acquaintances and no more.

"You must understand, my dear, that I'm doing this for our own good…you know I'd much rather have it just you and I…I'm not discarding you are anything of the sort, Bill…you understand that?"

Fagin sounded distressed, wringing his hands in his lap as he always did whenever he was agitated, biting his lip nervously. Bill looked at him across the table and felt a wave of pity wash over him; an emotion he wasn't used to feeling. All his former aggression towards Fagin had long since faded; of course Fagin wasn't tossing him aside for some new pickpockets, he was just being careful…wasn't that what Bill had told him to do, all that time ago?

"_You should be more careful then, shouldn't yer?"_

"_What does being careful have to do with anything?"_

"_You'll get nabbed by the traps if you ain't careful! You'll end up in the clink if you ain't careful!"_

"I understand, Fagin," he said, giving his benefactor a weak smile. He wasn't the sentimental type; a small smile, he thought, would suffice.

Fagin smiled back.

"You'll still be the greatest man of all time, my dear," he said, with a prophetic air. "It's not as if Morris will be any competition!"

They both shared a laugh and finished their gin, relieved at last that they understood one another. But despite this calm outward façade, both Fagin and Bill were still troubled, still worried.

But they weren't about to show it.

--

**A/N: **Sorry it took me so long to get this up! D: Tomorrow night I'll be out late again doing some recording for a 'Learn English' type CD…long story. Unfortunately, that means I may not be able to update as soon as I'd like. Apologies in advance!

Hope you liked this chapter; please R&R!


	11. And That Dog

Chapter Ten – Fagin's Boys (And That Dog)

They survived that winter and the next, and numbers in the gang had soon risen by a considerable amount. Food was scarcer than it had been when it was just Fagin and Bill by themselves (as was the gin) but the boys brought back enough for ever decreasing amounts of food in the larder not to be much of an issue.

At their head there was Bill, now twelve years of age, the oldest, strongest and most experienced of the lot. None of the other boys dared cross him, as was often demonstrated by Morris; you didn't want to get in Bill's bad books. As the months wore on it became clear to them all that Bill was one to be idolized; he was smart, swift, strong and sharp tongued, and all the boys regarded him as the epitome of brilliance, which suited him just fine.

After Bill there was Morris. Over the course of two years he'd hardly changed; he was still Bill's rival for the position of Fagin's 'right hand' pickpocket, although there was no indication of Bill renouncing the title any time soon. Even despite their rivalry, Morris did try to appease Bill on occasion (if only to avoid being beaten up).

The next member of the gang after Morris was a short but stocky boy of eleven with a shock of red hair and a face full of freckles. His name was Jeremy and he was probably Bill's biggest fan. He made the mistake of following the older boy around like an irritating puppy, constantly bombarding him with questions and praise. Even Fagin found Jeremy's chatterbox ways irksome.

Then came the two ten year olds, Norman and Frankie, both as hyperactive and tiresome as young children can be; yelling, squealing, shrieking, irritating each other (and everyone else)… Luckily for Bill the pair of them swore fierce loyalty to him and instead took delight in torturing Morris; they delighted in pulling pranks and making stupid jokes that no-one but themselves could understand.

Finally, thus far at least, there was Ezra. He wasn't like any other member of the gang, most of the time he was in a world of his own creation, and no-one was quite sure what to make of him. He took a great liking to Fagin's rather sorry looking stuffed owl and took to carrying it around with him, talking to it in a hushed voice and feeding it scraps from his plate at mealtimes. He was the newest and youngest member of the gang at eight years of age; quiet, gentle and soft-spoken.

--

It was a cool and blustery morning in late spring of the gang's third year. Breakfast as usual; Bill eating little and drinking heavily from his mug of gin, Morris poking fun at him at every opportunity, Norman and Frankie engaged in childishly throwing scraps of bread at Morris from their seats opposite him. Jeremy was sat on Bill's left, attempting in vain to copy Bill's drinking habits, while Ezra sat a little apart from the rest, the stuffed owl as ever wedged in beside him, which he was attempting to ply with a slice of bacon.

"'Ey Morris, you workin' in a bakery part time or summink? You've got crumbs all over ya!" Frankie piped up, tossing another crumb deftly at the aforementioned boy's head. Norman laughed heartily and took another swig of gin and water, while Morris glowered at the pair of them.

Bill rolled his eyes and poured himself another mug of gin, Jeremy scrutinizing his every move until Bill dealt him an irritated smack to the back of the head, causing the shorter lad to gain a much bigger interest in the tabletop.

Fagin, of course, reprimanded Bill for hitting Jeremy, Bill snarled something back, Jeremy slunk as discreetly as possible from the table, Norman and Frankie stopped giggling long enough to be privy to the conversation, and Morris ducked behind his mug of gin, lest he be the next target of Bill's fury. Ezra, as ever, remained completely unaware, wandering off absentmindedly while Bill and Fagin growled at each other to fetch his cap (and place it on the owl's head).

The argument between the two senior members of the gang was averted by Jeremy's frank observation that time was getting on and soon all six boys (sans the owl) were hitching their usual rides from the Cripples towards the centre of town.

It was a good day for business, with plenty of people out and about. The gang split up as they did every day; Norman and Frankie, aided by Ezra, were on grub duty, whilst the others hunted for prime plants and rich pickings.

Bill soon had six handkerchiefs and five wallets, a small, plain snuffbox and a pocketwatch. He was pleased but, all the same, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He knew it wasn't Fagin; he was at home doing whatever he did when they went out or off seeing one of his many acquaintances. So who could it be?

Bill looked over his shoulder having just snagged the pocketwatch, seeing nothing out of the ordinary save for a small white bulldog, with wide, staring eyes and a brown patch on his back, its legs slightly bent with the weight of its barrel-like body. He ignored it and walked on, only to see it again after pinching his seventh handkerchief of the day.

It soon became clear that the dog was following him; something Bill wasn't particularly pleased about. Even when he stopped work for a bit to get himself a bite of lunch, the dog was still there, staring solemnly at him with its large, glassy eyes.

Needless to say, young Sykes found this unnerving and tried to get the dog to leave him be (violently, of course). But no matter what he tried, the dog would not back away, even going so far as to lick Bill's hand as he tried to push it away.

Irritated, Bill tried to ignore the dog as he made his way back to the coach station. He had more than enough to warrant coming back early. Yet even then the dog pursued him, barking and yelping happily as it chased the coach back to the Cripples.

It followed Bill from the tavern all the way to Fagin's where, as luck would have it, Fagin, Ezra and Norman were grouped about the table engaged in discussion. As Bill closed the door behind him and made his way over, the dog was at his heels, wagging its tail.

"Wot the 'eck is tha' Bill?" asked Norman, gesturing to the dog.

"It's a dog," Ezra said quietly, talking more to the stuffed owl than anyone else.

"'Course it's a dog! Wot I mean is, wot's it doin' 'ere?"

"He has a point, my dear," Fagin chimed in, his brow furrowed. "Why have you brought a dog back, of all things?"

"For Gawd's sake!" snapped Bill, glowering at the dog and then at the assembled group. "The flippin' mutt followed me 'ere, alright?"

Norman let out a cackle of laughter but was quickly silenced by a glare from Bill. There was an awkward pause, which was only broken by the thump of the dog's tail on the floor.

"Can we keep it Mister Fagin? Please?" asked Ezra, casting his benefactor a plaintative glance. It was one of the longest sentences he'd ever strung together when not in conference with the owl, and it startled all of them.

"Um…" said Fagin, biting his lip.

Right on cue, the other boys returned from the day's work. Frankie almost collided with Morris, who was staring at the dog as if afraid it would attack him. The dog seemed to like all the attention it was getting.

"Can we keep it Fagin?" asked Jeremy suddenly; he approached the dog and began stroking it, the dog licking his face affectionately in return.

"Um…" said Fagin again.

He was soon accosted on all sides by cries of assent from the other boys (all except Morris who still looked scared and Bill himself, who looked like he wanted to kill the dumb animal; for once the two of them were agreed on something).

"Majority wins, I'm afraid my dears," Fagin said, with an apologetic glance in Bill and Morris' direction. "We're a democracy, ain't we? The dog can stay…but you lot must get its food and clean up after it, y'hear?"

This was followed by a cheer from the gang's younger members who were soon crowded around the dog, chattering away like canaries let out of a cage.

"We gotta name it though!"

"Yeah, Fagin's Boy's can't 'ave a dog wivout a name!"

"Reckon when it 'as a name Fagin'll let it be our mascot?"

Bill was seriously considering bashing his head against the wall by this point; what were they rabbiting on about? Naming that _thing_? Were they all mad?

"'Ow about callin' it Spt, cos of that patch on its back?"

"Nah, tha's borin'!"

"You come up wiv a better idea!"

"We could call it Bull's-Eye!"

Everyone stopped babbling as Ezra piped up yet again. They weren't used to him saying so much, and yet he had a very good point. Bull's-Eye suited the dog, for reason's no-one quite understood. The name certainly stuck; as soon as Ezra said it the dog lollopped over to him and began nuzzling at his hand.

"Bull's-Eye it is!" cried Frankie triumphantly.

"Oh Gawd…" groaned Bill.

--

**A/N:** Hope you all liked this chapter my dears! =) Bull's-Eye, as Katarina Sparrow says, is oft underappreciated, so I likewise felt he deserved his own chapter.

Please R&R! ^^


	12. At The Cripples

Chapter Eleven – At The Cripples

Every so often, after a good day's work, Fagin would take one or two of his young charges at a time to the Three Cripples, as a reward for their services. Bill had been the most often of the lot, and he loved the place; tonight it was his and Jeremy's turn for the privilege, the two of them having picked some very fine items while out at work that morning.

The tavern was crowded as usual, not helped by the fact that Bulls-Eye had decided to join the trio and make a foursome out of it. Despite the fact that he'd originally returned to the den with Bill, the dog was now always at Jeremy's side, not that either of them minded. Bill was glad to be rid of it and Jeremy actually liked it, so all was well in that regard.

They made their way to their usual table and took their seats, Bulls-Eye flopping at Jeremy's feet. Fagin ordered three mugs of gin before leaning back in his chair a little, surveying his two wards with pride.

"Fine pickings this morning, my dears," he said with an all knowing smile. "Fine pickings indeed! How do you do it, eh?"

Bill and Jeremy gave each other knowing looks. Recently they had started to work together as partners (Fagin was right, Morris was no competition) and managed to get much more than they would working on their own. Despite this alignment, Bill still brought the most valuable or interesting items to the table, but Jeremy didn't seem to mind. If he did, he never showed it, at any rate.

The gin soon arrived and, as they always did, Fagin and the boys toasted their success and that of the gang. The tavern customers were used to these outings by now and no longer found it strange that every so often a toast would be drunk to Fagin's Boy's and Their Canine Mascot (said mascot barking his assent at every toast drunk).

The formalities being done with, Fagin and his boys engaged themselves in discussion as they always did, about the gang, the state of the streets with regards to their line of work; the usual. However, Fagin soon steered the topic in a direction the two boys hadn't thought of before.

"I've had a thought, my dears…" he said, having downed his third mug of gin. Bill frowned and listened hard, but Jeremy was distracted momentarily by Bulls-Eye attempting to lick his gin mug clean for him.

"Go on," Bill urged Fagin, leaning over to push Bulls-Eye off of Jeremy so the other boy could pay close attention to the matter at hand. Fagin had that look in his eye again; the crafty look, the look that plainly said he had a plan in mind.

"This won't _really _matter for a few years, but I thought I'd rather bring it up now than never, what with you two being here together and all."

He paused and cleared his throat, while the two boys exchanged confused looks.

"Have either of you ever considered housebreaking?" Fagin asked, his face serious. "You pick pockets the best of the bunch, my dears, but, in a few years, you won't be as suited to that particular profession. Housebreaking, I'm sure, you could both do, am I not correct?"

Bill nodded solemnly, mulling it over in his mind. He could see it now; Bill Sykes, housebreaker. That, as with many other titles he'd landed over the years, had a nice ring to it.

Jeremy nodded eagerly, excited at the prospect. Fagin wanted him to go housebreaking, not only that, but housebreaking with _Bill Sykes_? Tonight couldn't get any better, surely! Housebreaking with Bill Sykes!

Fagin chuckled at the boy's expressions, clapping his hands together with wicked delight.

"Of course, you'll need to wait a few years for this, my dears. I just thought I'd mention it, see what you thought. But all my worries were fruitless I see, you like the prospect, eh, my dears?"

The pair of them nodded again, and Bulls-Eye barked loudly, as if wanting to have his share in the discussion. Fagin leant down to scratch the dog's ears, informing him that, if he was a clever dog for the next five years or so, he might be allowed to go on jobs too. Bulls-Eye seemed pleased and began to lick Fagin's face; Fagin made a disgruntled noise before resurfacing to face Bill and Jeremy, both boys howling with laughter at this exchange.

"Yes, yes, very funny…" grumbled Fagin, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"You're right Fagin; very funny!" Jeremy cried, before being submerged once again with childish laughter.

Fagin soon was laughing too despite himself; the situation was somewhat amusing he had to admit.

All too soon they took their leave; it was another day on the job tomorrow for all of them (Bulls-Eye accompanied Jeremy to help him pick pockets, with varying success).

As the four of them walked back to the flat, Fagin and Jeremy in animated discussion (with Bulls-Eye lumbering along at the latter's heels), Bill hung back, deep in thought. Housebreaking… it sounded glamorous, surely, but was it the right decision? But if he didn't break into houses would Fagin throw him out, even though he promised he never would? Could he have been lying, even though he seemed so sincere? Bill knew plenty of people who did just that.

"Bill? You comin' or wot?"

Bill hurried to catch up with the others, composing himself to act as normal. There was years before this would even matter, Fagin had said so! But he couldn't help feeling worried…was Fagin telling the truth when he said 'you'll be the greatest man of all time'? Did progressing from picking pockets to robbing houses constitute greatness?

Bill Sykes certainly hoped so.

--

**A/N: **Hope this chapter was worth the wait, my dears! =)

Hopefully I'll have another one up soon before exams officially begin the day after tomorrow.

The next chapter will skip about five years, just so you are aware. Big time leap, but I don't want to have this story crammed with filler chapters for lack of anything better to write, you know? Never fear, this story has a long, long way to go! He hasn't even met Nancy yet (but he will soon…) :3

R&R my dears!


	13. Changes

Chapter Twelve – Changes

Those few years turned out to be five, and what years they were! The gang gained another boy; Archie, a reserved young man who was soon friends with Ezra and his owl. Bill grew to be taller than Morris (at last) and delighted giving him a taste of his own medicine. Norman and Frankie were as childish as ever, even now at fifteen years of age! Jeremy and Bill were still thick as thieves and partners in crime; Jeremy still idolized Bill's every move and tried to imitate him, but Sykes didn't find his behavior as irritating as he used to.

Over the course of five years, Bill himself had changed. He was no longer the meek ten year old he had been, nor the stronger but still easily intimidated boy of twelve. At seventeen, Bill Sykes had earned quite a reputation; he was violent and foul mouthed and drank heavily. He had taken to skiving off the job to go to the Cripples, and also, on occasion, decided to attack unsuspecting pedestrians in alleyways to get their cash, rather than picking pockets as he used to.

Despite the fact that the boys continued to be in awe of him, they were all terrified underneath. Even Fagin, who was attempting to keep up his attitude as lord and master of the house, found himself stammering with fright at Bill's raised voice. Sykes was an intimidating figure, and they all knew not to cross him. Even Fagin, though he tried his best to be as stern with him as with the others, couldn't keep up the act. Bill brought about the coward in him, and he hated the young man for it.

Bill had changed.

Fagin had changed.

Even some of the boys had changed.

But the biggest and most surprising change was still to come.

--

All the boys were out on the job as usual, if you could call them boys now. The job was much harder for them all since they weren't as small, young or capable of appearing innocent (this was especially true in Bill's regard, one of the reasons he turned to alternate forms of earning his keep).

Having stolen a couple of wallets in the usual fashion, Bill made his way down a narrow side street, the sounds of the main streets dying behind him as he wound his way through alleyways and up courts. He wasn't going anywhere in particular; it wasn't as if Fagin would even think of punishing him for not bringing back as much as he ought…

Well, he would probably try, come to think of it.

That wasn't to say Bill cared.

It was getting late, but Bill often stayed out past the usual time. He liked to worry Fagin every so often, keep the old man on his toes. The alleyway through which he now was walking was close to the Cripples; Bill had half a mind to call it a day and stop for a pint (or two). But even as he began to direct his steps in the direction of the tavern, movement further down the alleyway caught his eye.

A middle-aged man, a head or so shorter than Bill, was making his way nervously down the alley towards him; his top hat askew atop his head, wringing his hands nervously in front of him. He looked lost, scared, confused…the perfect victim.

Bill cautiously kept to the shadows until he was behind the man; it was always better to attack a person from behind where they least expected it. As he suspected, the man hadn't noticed a thing; he was muttering to himself in blind panic, sounding close to tears. But Bill's days of hesitance and pity were long gone; in an instant he had forced the man to the ground and had wrested his wallet and pocketwatch from him, as well as a small bag which had clearly come from a pawnshop, the man pleading all the while for Bill to leave him alone.

Having gathered his spoils, Bill scrambled to his feet and was about to run for it; what if any nearby police had heard the man's shouts? He had hardly gone several metres, however, when he felt someone grab _him _from behind; evidently a very small someone as they had latched onto his leg rather than his neck, as most assailants were prone to do.

"Wot did ya do tha' for?" came a furious voice.

Bill looked around to see who on Earth had decided to try and attack him, stupidly and clearly without knowing his reputation. He was all set to inflict grievous bodily harm on whoever it was, but these thoughts fled from his mind as he took in the figure before him.

She was small, certainly, only a little over four feet in height, looking to be about ten years of age. She was as thin as the next starving street urchin but her ragged red dress, practically falling apart at the seams, looked to be a size too small for her. Her hair, stringy and copper coloured, framed her face elegantly; a face which would have been pretty were it not bearing a ferocious scowl; nose wrinkled in distaste, lips pursed, blue eyes narrowed.

Bill was taken aback.

Had this girl, this little ten year old girl, really attempted to attack him, and questioned what he'd done? Had she really just issued him a challenge? Who did she think she was?

"Well?" snapped the girl, hands on hips.

Bill opened his mouth to reply but even as he did so he heard shouts from further down the alley; the traps had found the man he'd robbed and would doubtless soon be after him… Shooting the strange girl a contemptuous glance Bill hurried away, his mind in a whirl.

Who was she?

Little did he know he would soon find out…

--

Having beguiled the rest of the afternoon with a few bottles of gin at the Three Cripples, Bill made his way back toward Fagin's. He'd barely given the strange girl a second thought since he entered the tavern but, now he didn't have a bottle in his hand to distract him, his thoughts had returned once again to her.

Where had she come from? She seemed to have appeared out of thin air, for all he knew. Then there was the fact that she'd challenged him; _she_ had challenged _him_. Stood up to him. Defied him.

There had been more than one thing wrong about that scenario, and Bill didn't like to dwell on it. Yet he couldn't get that girl out of his mind, try as he might. There was something about her…was it the very reason she had defied him that made her so intriguing?

Bill entered the flat without the password, as he was now prone to do. It always frightened Fagin; something Bill relished. As the door banged shut behind him, however, he registered shock on not just Fagin's face (or those of the boys) but on someone else's entirely.

_Hers_.

Her…the copper haired girl in the tattered red dress…she was here…at the den…

Before he could say a word, however, the girl in question voiced his own thoughts.

"Y-YOU?" she blurted, eyes wide as plates. "But…you…the…what…how?"

"You and Bill are already acquainted, my dear?" Fagin asked curiously, glancing from Bill to the girl and back again. "Might I ask how?"

Bill had never told Fagin about his alternate method of getting money; Fagin only paid him to pick pockets. Not to mention he probably wouldn't like the idea if he heard it and might even threaten to kick Bill out. Both of them didn't want that to happen.

"We'll 'ave no more of tha'!" Bill said quickly, his gruff tone a little strained as he tried to steer the conversation away from his fateful first meeting with…what was her name anyway?

"Who are ya?" he snarled, addressing the girl.

Fagin chose this point to re-enter the conversation.

"As I was just attempting to explain to the lads, my dear, this is-"

"I'm Nancy," the girl said firmly, cutting across Fagin and looking Bill boldly right in the eyes.

Fagin looked a little affronted at being interrupted mid-monologue but didn't say anything. He, like the rest of the gang, was eagerly awaiting Bill's reaction. What would he say, what would he do? Fagin especially was interested; they'd never had a girl in the gang before. Thus far the lads hadn't taken kindly to the idea; would Bill join them?

"Well, _Nancy_," sneered Sykes, with an air of immense superiority. "I'm Bill."

--

**A/N: **Bill and Nancy finally meet! I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for ages!

Here's hoping mini Nancy is in character! XD I thought it would be appropriate for her and Bill not to like each other at first…we'll see how things turn out, won't we?

Thanks to Katarina Sparrow 19, my dearest Nancy Buddy; your first chapter of 'Nancy' gave me a lot of inspiration for one reason or another; you rock! ^^

Please R&R people! =)


	14. Listening At Keyholes

Chapter Thirteen – Listening At Keyholes

"Fagin, wot d'you think you're doin'?"

"Hush Bill, hush, don't speak so loud!"

"I'll speak as loud as I please!"

"You'll wake the-"

"I don't care. Wot the 'ell are you doin'?"

"You're being rather vague, my d-"

"I don't care fer yer word games, Fagin. Tha' girl-"

"Nancy…"

"Wotever! Wot's she to do wiv us? Why'd you bring 'er back?"

"We need more young 'uns around here, my dear. She can pick pockets just as well as you and the other lads; maybe better!"

"Are you sayin' tha' some _girl _is better than all of us?"

"You haven't seen her pick a pocket, my dear. She's a natural!"

"As if I care!"

Fagin raised a skeptical eyebrow. Bill was reacting just as he'd expected; maybe over-reacting a little. Would having a girl join the gang really be that bad? The other boys and Bill himself were getting too old for pick pocketing now…but what could he do? He couldn't just throw them all out…what if they peached on him?

Getting an idea, he endeavored to change the subject and prevent becoming even more bruised by Bill's wrath.

"You know what, my dear? I think it's high time you and Jeremy went on your first job."

Bill's eyes lit up and he stood a little taller. Now, at last, Fagin was making sense. Housebreaking! All his apprehensions and fears of earlier years were now long gone; he'd become impatient for the day when Fagin would allocate him a house to burgle, a real job to do. Pick pocketing was no longer a job to him, more of a joke, a game.

Fagin chuckled at Bill's eager expression; a look he hadn't seen him wear in awhile. His face always seemed to bear a permanent scowl, as if he were determined to be dissatisfied with the world and everyone in it. And he'd been such a lovely lad too, in his time…

"Don't you get all het up just yet, my dear; I've still got to get you both a placement…but never fear. I'll have it sorted within the week. Just be patient, all right?"

Bill's excited expression faded and he quickly reverted back to a glare. Of course, Fagin was just toying with him, playing his mind games like some demented, wizened magician. He had the momentary idea of dealing the old man a blow to the head from spite, but decided against it in favour of snatching up the gin bottle and drinking the last few drops.

It was Fagin's turn to glare.

"That was the last of it, my dear. I'll need you to-"

Bill started towards him.

"I'll need _me_ to go and get some more."

With that, Fagin scuttled past Bill with the intention of exiting the alcove. However, as he opened the door, he was greeted with a gasp of shock from a certain copper haired, dress clad someone who stood just outside.

"N-Nancy, my dear? What're you-"

Bill pushed past Fagin, and Nancy took an involuntary step backwards. She wasn't sure whether or not to be afraid of Bill; he didn't seem to like her and yet he'd run away from her earlier in the alleyway; was he afraid of her? Wouldn't that be neat?

"Wot're you doin', eh? Listenin' at keyholes, were ya?"

"Bill, my dear, there's no need for-"

"Shut yer trap Fagin!"

Fagin did as he was asked, falling silent immediately and casting Nancy an apologetic glance. He could no longer stand up to Bill, no matter how hard he tried. E couldn't help it; he was a terrifying person, he could make strong men tremble!

"I…I wosn't listenin' to ya-"

"Oh really? Wot're you doin' 'angin' about out 'ere then?"

Even Nancy could tell that Bill was furious, angrier than he had been before. She momentarily wondered why but pushed the thought from her mind as Bill took a step towards her, glowering.

"Bill, for gawd's sake! We're tryin' to sleep!"

"Quiet, will ya?"

"Gawd Bill, wot're you tryin' to do, wake the 'ole of London?"

Norman, Frankie and Jeremy were all wide awake, glowering sleepily at Bill from their various bunks and berths. Evidently Bill had been shouting louder than he'd thought; Jeremy was the deepest sleeper in the entire gang. His _snoring_ was loud enough to wake the whole of London, let alone Bill's voice!

"All of you shut it!"

This was Fagin, who was desperately trying to salvage the situation and regain control.

"Norman, Frankie, Jeremy, go back to sleep! Bill, you get yerself to bed too, you hear me? And you Nancy, my dear! Lots of work to do in the morning!"

Bill rolled his eyes but made his way towards his bed as he was instructed. Nancy followed him; Bill was surprised and irritated to find that the only spare bunk in the den happened to be the one next to his.

Gawd.

Heaving a frustrated sigh he clambered into bed, rolling over to face the wall so as to avoid looking at Nancy. He heard Fagin's footsteps as he scuttled off to get the gin, the creak of the door, the click of the key in the lock.

"Bill?"

It was Nancy again. What did she want? Bill grumbled something unintelligible and burrowed further under his blanket. Childlike his behavior may have been, but he'd had enough for one day.

"I'm sorry Mister Fagin got mad at ya."

"Wotever. Go to sleep."

"Bill?"

"Wot?"

"I wosn't listenin' to ya, I swear I wosn't. I ain't a sneak."

"Good to know. Now sleep."

Bill, facing the wall as he was, didn't see Nancy's small smile as she crawled under her own blanket and curled up to sleep

When Fagin returned to the loft a few hours later, staggering a little and wearing a hat he'd fashioned for himself out of newspaper, a bottle of gin in each hand, it was to find all the gang asleep and peaceful, even Bill. Smiling tipsily he tottered off to his own bed, grinning all the more at the sight of Nancy unknowingly robbing Bill of his blanket in her slumber.

They certainly got on well, Bill and Nancy.

They certainly got on well.

--

**A/N: **Some BillxNancy fluff because that's how the story goes. ^^ Here's hoping you're all enjoying these chapters and I'm not steaming ahead too fast with the storyline.

R&R one and all! =)


	15. Taking Risks

Chapter Fourteen – Taking Risks

When Bill awoke the next morning, he found himself shivering slightly from the cold. Only then did he realize that his blanket was missing. Starting up he saw Nancy, huddled in her bed, with two blankets wound in a cocoon around her.

Ordinarily Bill would have been angry about this; that girl stealing his blanket indeed! He knew, however, that getting het up about it would be childish, and a child was something Bill wasn't anymore.

Even as he thought this he saw Nancy stir and blink herself awake. He continued to watch her as she sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, attempting in vain to tame her tousled hair. As she turned and found herself facing Bill she gave a small start of surprise, her mouth wide open in shock; clearly she hadn't expected to see him standing there.

"Uh…mornin' Nancy," Bill said awkwardly. He would have said something more, but Fagin's bashing and clanging of pots and pans indicated that grub was up. Shrugging he made a swift exit, grabbing his hat and ramming on it his head as he did so.

Nancy grinned. That was the first time he'd called her by her name.

--

Breakfast was the usual chaos and Nancy looked a bit apprehensive about it all. The boys were particularly rambunctious this morning, even Ezra and Archie were chattier than normal. Bill seemed a bit apart from the gang this morning, absentmindedly sipping his gin and choosing not to participate in the conversation.

"Now then my dears!" cried Fagin, banging the toasting fork on the table by way of restoring order. "I don't know what you're all so chatty about this morning but it'd better stop y'hear? Else we won't play the game this morning (gawd knows we need the practice)!"

That shut the lads up. They hadn't played the game in what felt like years (and probably was). This was Fagin's way of initiating new members of the gang and honing the skills of the older hands. As of late the boys had started to get a bit slack, especially a certain Mister Sykes, and Fagin felt it was time to re-inspire them.

The box of trinkets was produced and soon the game began. At first only Bill, Jeremy and Morris played but, one by one, the others joined in too, even Nancy. Some of the boys worked together, others alone. Once or twice Fagin would catch one of them and they would have to abstain from the fun for a brief period before rejoining with fresh vigour.

All the time the game was being played, Bill kept an eye on Nancy. Maybe it was because she was the only girl, maybe it was her style of picking pockets, maybe it was to amount of trinkets she was managing to swipe undetected…Bill was impressed, despite himself.

Once, he and Nancy both reached into the same pocket at the same time. Needless to say Fagin turned around and caught them both as they hastily withdrew their hands. As they headed to the table (Morris chuckling at Bill's expense and getting whacked about the head with a wallet by Jeremy) Nancy whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Bill; the same one they'd both been after! She offered the older boy a small smile, which Bill found himself returning.

The fun couldn't last however. Soon Morris and Jeremy had got into a heated argument (about what no-one was quite sure) and Fagin called off the game, sending everyone out to work. He kept Bill and Jeremy back though, telling them they needed to have 'a little chat'.

"Right then," he said, all business, sitting down at the table and gesturing at the boys to do likewise. "I think you'll both be very pleased to know that I've found you both a house."

Jeremy and Bill looked at one another; Bill was excited but Jeremy looked a little apprehensive, even scared. Bill shrugged it off and turned his attention back to Fagin; the older man didn't seem to notice Jeremy's lack of confidence.

"It's Number Twelve, Bloomsbury Square… only about half an hour from here…"

As Fagin began to rattle off a list of directions, Bill looked over at Jeremy again. The sixteen year old definitely wasn't his usual self; as Fagin continued to speak he grew paler and paler, quite alarming under his mop of red curls. Bill frowned.

"Well, that's that, my dears," Fagin finished, jerking Bill back to his senses. "Eleven o' clock I want you to leave, alright? No later. Any questions?"

Both young men shook their heads. Fagin, pleased, ambled off to his quarters without another word, intending to catch up on sleep and remake his newspaper hat (he was actually quite fond of it, really). As Fagin's curtain swished shut behind him, Bill turned once again to Jeremy, the latter wringing his hands in his lap and biting his lip as if his life depended on it.

"Wot is the matter wiv you?"

Bill hadn't meant to be so blunt, but he couldn't help it. He'd waited years to go housebreaking, overcome all his insecurities and now Jeremy; spunky, loudmouthed, incredibly extroverted Jeremy, was having second thoughts?

"Wot d'ya mean?"

Jeremy looked over at Bill, eyes wide.

"Wot d'ya think? You! Wot you actin' so strange fer, eh?"

Jeremy averted his eyes, and there was a moment's pause as he tried to find the words he so desperately felt he must say.

"I…I'm scared Bill. It's such a risk…we've never done this before…we could get caught so easily!"

Bill scoffed. "We've waited years for this, 'aven't we? 'Course it's gonna be risky; that's part of it! You sayin' pickin' pockets ain't risky? Ain't everythin' we do 'round 'ere risky?"

Jeremy nodded reluctantly.

"I know tha'! But-"

"But?"

"I dunno…it's just…this is different…it's not just risky it's downright dangerous…"

Bill hated Jeremy at that moment. He was dragging back all his old worries and fears, causing his insecurities about the housebreaking scheme to resurface, right when he needed such feelings quelled.

"Look, I know it's dangerous but we've gotta do it, y'hear? We can't pick pockets like we used to…if we don't do this Fagin'll throw us out for sure!"

Bill couldn't help a note of panic in his voice; he knew he could take to the streets again, he was certainly strong enough, but he didn't want to, he couldn't….he couldn't leave the gang now. He hated sounding so needy, even inside his own head, but it was true. Fagin, Jeremy, Norman and Frankie, Ezra and Archie, even Morris! And Nancy…

How did he feel about her?

He hadn't the slightest idea.

"If I refuse to come you'll drag me there yerself, won't ya?" Jeremy asking, joking now.

Bill couldn't help but chuckle.

"Even if I 'ave to drag you there meself, you're comin'. We'll be careful. I promise."

Little did Bill know that his promise would be broken.

**A/N:** Housebreaking the next chapter, I promise you. ^^

Please R&R! =)


	16. The Break In

Chapter Fifteen – The Break-In

It was a good night for a housebreaking; dark with only the moon to guide them. As eleven bells tolled from the steeple clock, Bill and Jeremy heaved themselves from their beds and began creeping towards the door.

Fagin and the others had long since gone to sleep, the old 'un having supplied the two young men with whatever tools he thought necessary; a couple of crowbars (jemmys, he called them), lamps (darkies), two brutal looking clubs (persuaders) and a pistol each, Bill wondering all the while how on Earth Fagin had acquired such items.

Then again, he was Fagin.

He had a stuffed owl.

"Where are you two goin'?"

Jeremy jumped a foot in the air, barely holding back a startled cry. Bill had flinched at the sound of Nancy's voice, admittedly, but he shrugged this off as he turned to face her, a frown appearing on his face.

"Wot are you doin'?" he hissed angrily. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Who are ya, my father?" Nancy quipped back.

Bill ground his teeth.

"Where we're goin' an' wot we're doin' is none of your business!"

Nancy scowled childishly, folding her arms across her chest.

"I heard you two are off 'ouse-breakin'!"

Bill stopped in his tracks on the way to the door, turning on his heel again to face her, his expression incredulous. "'Ow did you-"

Nancy tapped the side of her nose but said no more.

Bill would have argued his point further but soon realized the impropriety of doing so. Time was drawing on; he and Jeremy had a job to do. He turned back to the door and opened it, letting Jeremy out first. As he turned once again to close the door behind him, Nancy spoke again, this time her voice no more than a whisper.

"Be careful, won'cha? Please?"

Bill was startled at this, managing to force a nod before closing the door behind him.

Bill and Jeremy hitched the usual coach to the centre of town; from there it was a ten minute walk to Bloomsbury Square. The residence they were concerned with was relatively small and whitewashed; evidently what Fagin would consider to be an easy job.

'If he was out buying gin last night, how'd he manage to find this house?' Bill wondered. 'Or did he have this one in mind all along?'

It was the work of a few moments to clear the low wall surrounding the house. The two men split up to look around the perimeter for a way in; Jeremy found a window big enough to fit through although he couldn't quite reach it. Bill elbowed him out of the way, irritated with the amount of time they were wasting, and began to pry the window open with his crowbar (albeit noisily).

Five minutes later a very frustrated Bill had managed to open the window. It was mutually decided that Jeremy should be the one to go through it, opening the front door from the inside to let Bill in.

Standing on tiptoe and grabbing the window ledge and, with some assistance from Bill, Jeremy managed to hoist himself upwards and begin to squirm through the window. In ordinary circumstances he would have looked ridiculous but these circumstances were definitely not of the ordinary variety.

At last, Jeremy was through. Bill could tell from the cry of surprise that came as his partner landed with a thump on the floor. He cursed Jeremy's stupidity at making such a noise which could get them caught before running to the front door. Mere moments later he found himself inside the house; Jeremy looked very pleased having accomplished his task of opening the door without major incident.

Now came the real task of robbing the house. Fagin had informed them what was best to take, of course, but now they were actually inside the task seemed much more daunting. There were so many rooms, even in such a small house, and so many items that looked valuable!

The pair split up again, Jeremy heading towards the morning room, Bill to the drawing room. A pair of candlesticks, a tea set, some china figurines, a mantelpiece clock…all these and many more soon found their way into the carefully concealed pockets of Bill's coat. The next room yielded little, but the room after that had plenty more rich pickings.

As he proceeded across the hallway he narrowly avoided colliding with Jeremy, who had been looking in the other direction, scanning the hallway for anything that could fit into his pockets. It was clear that he'd managed to find a lot of stuff; even though the pockets were concealed he was visibly bulkier than usual.

"Right then," Bill hissed. "Upstairs."

"Wot?" Jeremy said, following Bill as the other made his way towards the staircase. "Wot d'you wanna go up there for?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Toffs're most likely to keep their most pricey stuff closer to 'em, ain't they? Do ya wont well paid for this job or not?"

Jeremy nodded hesitantly and made his way up the staircase in Bill's wake. The first room they came to was a bedroom, but un-occupied. Bill was quick to swipe the jewelcase that sat on the dressing table and Jeremy took the doily that was sitting under it; it was probably worth more than any silk handkerchief any of them had ever pinched at any rate.

The next bedroom, on the other hand, was occupied, but with much pricier items, evident even at a glance. Quietly as they could, what with their weighted pockets and heavy, nervous breathing, both robbers crept into the room and began to loot the place. At one time, as Bill pulled open a dresser drawer, one of the sleepers yawned widely and muttered something, as if they were about to get up, causing Bill and Jeremy to freeze where they stood, as if hoping to blend in with the wallpaper. They were lucky; after a few moments drowsy mumbling the man went back to sleep, but it had been close.

At length it was clear that they could rob no more; Jeremy was finding it difficult to move what with the amount of items he had crammed into his various pockets and even Bill was having trouble finding room in which to stash even a stray brooch.

The pair of them retreated down the staircase; Jeremy making a great clanking and clattering with all the silver tea trays he had stashed about his person. It was obvious they couldn't escape through the window; the front door it was.

However, that was when things started to go wrong.

Jeremy, on a spur of the moment, decided it would be a good idea to clatter off to the kitchen and see if there was any food worth pinching. If he'd told Bill why he was heading in that direction perhaps he would have agreed but, as it was, Jeremy didn't say anything and Bill was, understandably, confused and irritated by his time wasting.

"Wot are you doin'?" he snapped, attempting to regain Jeremy's attention. "We've got the stuff, let's get outta here!"

He'd spoken too late. Jeremy had opened the kitchen door (loudly) and, in doing so, woken up the dog that had previously been asleep in its basket under the table. Bill, of course, couldn't see this from where he stood near the door, and had no idea why Jeremy was backing away from the kitchen with his hands in the air.

"Wot the 'ell are ya-" Bill began.

Then he noticed the dog.

And, stupidly, started to run.

It was the only thought that went through his head; they had to escape, and quickly. Needless to say the dog bolted after him, barking furiously, almost knocking over Jeremy in its haste to get at Bill. Jeremy sprinted after the dog; Bill had managed to clear the low garden wall and was waiting anxiously across the street for Jeremy…

Jeremy scrambled over the wall, the dog snapping at his heels. He fell onto the grass on the other side with a crash, his loaded pockets doing nothing to help him and he struggled back onto his feet.

Seconds later the two housebreakers heard panicked voices from the upper floor of the house and saw a candle flare in the windows; the homeowner's cries mingled with the furious yelps and howls of the dog as it too attempted to jump the wall.

Time to go back to Fagin's.

--

"Let's see what you've got to show for it, eh my dears?" said Fagin, looking near to burst with glee as he ushered the pair of them inside and poured them both large measures of gin.

The two young men emptied their various pockets and soon there was quite a pile of assorted items of varying values on Fagin's table; tea sets, three jewelery boxes, four ornate brooches, a mantelpiece clock, china figurines, a small self portrait in a golden frame, a pair of silk gloves, a set of silver teaspoons… It was quite a collection, and Fagin was practically dancing with joy as he examined each item, even expressing his delight at the doily which was apparently a collector's item (how he knew that neither Bill nor Jeremy cared to fathom).

"Well done my dears!" said Fagin jubilantly, with proud emphasis on every word. "Well done indeed! I knew you could do it, I knew you could! Buckingham Palace next, eh?"

The three of them reveled in a laugh before drinking another glass of gin each (Fagin had evidently been on the bottle before they arrived back as there wasn't much left).

"It's late…or rather, early," Fagin said, glancing at his pocket watch. "Half past one! Not bad for a first raid, my dears, not bad at all! Everything went alright, yes? Well of course it did! Look at all this stuff! It's beautiful, beautiful! Absolutely spectacular! Fandabbidozie!"

Neither Bill nor Jeremy had any idea what fandabbidozie meant, and, frankly, they didn't care. Soon Jeremy trooped off to bed, Bill following soon behind.

As he hung his hat up on its peg and scrambled into bed he couldn't help but notice Nancy, still wide awake, staring wide-eyed at him from where she lay, huddled under her blanket.

"Yer still awake?" he asked incredulously, stifling a yawn.

Nancy nodded. "I wanted to know you got back safe."

Bill didn't know what to say to that, so, instead of attempting a reply, he closed his eyes and waited for the tiredness of his body to catch up with his brain, which wasn't long in happening.

As the steeple clock struck two, all the members of Fagin's household were asleep, all except the old man himself, who was still busily examining Bill and Jeremy's loot. He took an immense liking to the doily (not surprising in his current state) but, for the most part, simply fawned over all the pretty things his clever boys had brought back, thoughts of riches whirling through his mind.

"Clever dogs…" he muttered gleefully to himself. "Clever, clever dogs…"

--

**A/N:** For those of you who don't know, fandabbidozie simply means super or marvelous. I say it a lot and, though it's not a Victorian or Dickensian phrase it sounds to me like something Fagin might come up with so I had him say it.

Take that society. XD

Please R here's hoping this chapter wasn't cliché! =/


	17. The Storm

Chapter Sixteen – The Storm

In the months that followed Jeremy and Bill went out housebreaking at least once a week; it seemed Fagin had a wealth of suitable houses at his disposal. As the weeks drew on the jobs became increasingly easy and yet continued to get more risky at the same time. They could break and enter without difficulty now but, more often than not, faced all sorts of menaces in their acquisition of worthy items.

At first the rest of the gang were curious as to why Bill and Jeremy never came pick pocketing with them anymore; Norman and Frankie especially seemed upset at having no backup when it came to taunting Morris. When Fagin informed them that Bill and Jeremy had moved onto 'bigger and better things' they were looked up to with new respect. But, since Fagin hadn't told them what bigger and better things were, they were curious. Curious enough to pester Fagin until he was finally worn down and told them.

Bill and Jeremy were housebreakers, at eighteen and seventeen years of age respectively.

_Housebreakers_.

Even Morris was awed at the prospect and railed and ranted for ages, complaining that he wanted to be a housebreaker too (if only for the glory he thought the job would bring him). Fagin gave him a smack about the head, called him a twit, and told him to get out and earn his keep, which he did, albeit sullenly.

Tonight Bill and Jeremy were to go out housebreaking again; this time with Bulls-Eye in tow. Jeremy had brought the dog on a couple of occasions; he proved himself useful when dealing with guard dogs or alerting them when coppers were on their tail. Bill, Jeremy and Bulls-Eye were known to the police (how could they not be with all the houses they robbed?) but they had never been caught are even properly identified. They always got away unscathed, with all the goods they could carry for Fagin crammed in their pockets.

They'd turned out just as Fagin hoped they would. And tonight's house, a large upper class residence on the well respected Romulus Avenue, would be a perfect test to see just how brilliant Bill and Jeremy had become.

--

It was a darker night than usual, and colder, London, as it was, being in the heart of the winter months. Frost sparkled on the pavements as the pair of them hurried towards their destination, their breath coming in ragged clouds before their faces. Bulls-Eye trotted at Jeremy's heels, panting slightly as he kept pace with the two men.

The house was larger than they'd both expected, but this did not deter them. They scaled the iron fence surrounding it with practiced ease, Jeremy running to open the garden gate to let Bulls-Eye in, the dog immediately running off to scan the grounds for any of its fellows lurking unnoticed.

As Bill prized open the larder window and Jeremy prepared to clamber through, the sky above them split and the rain began to lash down in torrents. It was typical of London's winter weather to be unpredictable, but a thunderstorm was definitely not anticipated, or appreciated, by the two robbers.

Bill cursed as he hurried to the front door, attempting in vain to shield himself from the rain. He wasn't against it ordinarily, but it would be most inconvenient for the job he and Jeremy had to do.

The front door was soon unlocked and the men went about their business as usual. Even the main hallway was crammed with all sorts of expensive items (which soon found their way into Bill and Jeremy's various pockets). The pounding rain outside turned out to be a blessing in disguise; it was so loud and furious that the two men were certain the owner of the house couldn't hear them.

The first floor pillaged to their satisfaction, the pair of them proceeded as usual to the upper floors of the house, swiping all they could find of value as they always did. Despite the bad weather which wasn't that much of a problem at present, both Bill and Jeremy were surprised with how well the burglary was going.

As Jeremy was picking a figurine off a window ledge, however, he spotted something, even through the film of water on the pane, which made his blood run cold. Bulls-Eye was advancing on a pair of dogs, both twice his size, but clearly the guardians of the house. He and the other dogs were barking and growling at each other fit to burst when, without warning, one of them leapt at Bulls-Eye, pinning him to the ground. Naturally Bulls-Eye began to fight back and soon the dog's yelps and howls had reached fever pitch, loud enough for even Jeremy, inside the house, to hear!

He backed out of the room as quickly as he could, but it was too late. The owner of the house was awake, and spotted him just as he cleared the doorway. The man ducked beneath the bed for a moment, re-emerging with a pistol in one hand before giving chase.

Jeremy, looking over his shoulder as he sprinted for the staircase, noticed the man immediately. Cursing, he leapt down the stairs three at a time, fumbling in his pocket for his own gun.

Bill, hearing the commotion, dashed from the second bedroom he'd been looting and drew his pistol from his coat pocket, aiming a shot at the man chasing Jeremy. His aim was off by inches and the bullet hit a painting instead.

Jeremy gave a yell of surprise at the sound of the bullet and stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. The home owner turned and spotted Bill as he too began to run down the stairs; without pausing to think Bill struck the man across the face with the pistol in his hand, the man crumpled to the floor with a shriek of pain.

Bill and Jeremy at last reached the door and fled the house, the storm still raging as if it never thought to stop. So concerned were the two men with quitting the place that they didn't look once over their shoulders again to see the man in the doorway, supporting himself against the frame, his pistol at the ready.

A bang, the stench of gunpowder, a yell, the frenzied howls of the dogs, the smell of blood…

Jeremy lay curled in the grass, crimson liquid blossoming over his black overcoat, his eyes glazed. The hand that had seconds before gripped his pistol was limp, and what little breath he had left came in ragged, wretched gasps.

"Bill…get out of 'ere…take the b***** dog an' run!"

Bill couldn't run, he couldn't just leave Jeremy here…he moved as if to help his friend to his feet, but Jeremy could barely lift his head, his breathing becoming even more strained.

"'S too late Bill…"

"I can't just leave you 'ere to die; are ya crazy?"

Jeremy would have laughed, but he was in too much pain to even attempt a smile. Of course he was crazy, this whole idea was madness…and it was an insane old man who'd drove them to it.

As the rain lashed down and the dogs continued to growl, Jeremy drew his last shaking breath.


	18. It's Not Weak To Cry

Chapter Seventeen – It's Not Weak To Cry

Bill's first instinct was to pull the trigger on the home owner, but the man had vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared. The door to the house was soon slammed shut after him by the fierce gale; the bang, even over the sound of the storm, brought Bill back to reality.

The shot, the blood, the scream of agony…

He looked down at Jeremy, with his glassy eyes and red hair plastered to his forehead, his face still etched in its final frown. Bill checked his wrist for a pulse, although he knew it was no use.

Jeremy was dead.

The dogs had stopped growling now, but Bill hardly noticed. Bulls-Eye limped over to Jeremy's side and began to lick his rain streaked face, as if that would somehow revive his fallen master. Bill, of course, didn't take kindly to this and tried to push the dog away, muttering furious curses, but the animal refused to budge, whining pathetically as Jeremy didn't move.

For a few moments they simply stayed there, Bill kneeling at Jeremy's side, Bulls-Eye crouched beside him, his head drooping, the rain continuing to fall soaking them both to the bone. But soon it became apparent that they had to move; they couldn't just stay here waiting for the traps to find them…

But what about Jeremy? They couldn't just leave him here…

Bill attempted to lift Jeremy in his arms, but the young man's weight (not to mention the weight of all the items stuffed in his pockets) was too much for Bill (he had his own loot to contend with as well). What was he going to do?

Gingerly, he tugged Jeremy's overstuffed coat off, wincing at the sight of the bullet wound in his friend's back. The blood had mingled with the rainwater, which meant the stain had dispersed all across his shirt, making it look even more gruesome than it really was.

Bill placed Jeremy's coat on the ground and now lifted his partner easily. He could feel the blood from Jeremy's back oozing over his fingers, a sensation that made him feel sick.

He had to get back to Fagin's…

Bulls-Eye, loath as he was to leave anything belonging to his master behind at this dreadful place, clamped his teeth onto Jeremy's heavy coat and dragged it along the ground, following in Bill's wake.

The solemn procession wound its way through the streets and all the way back to Fagin's; there were no hackney cabs to be found at this early hour of the morning. The rain still continued to hammer down as the city clock struck two, accompanied by the creaking of the attic door as Bill forced it open, staggering a little now. Bulls-Eye just managed to drag the muddy and blood-stained coat inside before the wind whipped the door closed with a bang, starting some of the boys awake.

"It's two in the flippin' mornin'!"

"Shut it, eejit, tha's Bill! 'E's back!"

"Bill! How'd it go; what'd ya nick? Let's see!"

"Why's Jer-"

"Jeremy! Wot's wrong wiv 'im?"

"'E's bleedin'!"

"What's all this racket about, my dears?"

Fagin had emerged from his quarters, rubbing sleep from his eyes. All the members of the gang were awake now, clambering out of beds and scrambling from their berths to see what had happened. Bill didn't want the boys to see Jeremy…not like this…

"Bill what…oh…oh gawd…oh _gawd_…"

Fagin clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the scene before him. Jeremy was cradled in Bill's arms, Bulls-Eye at his heels with Jeremy's coat still in his mouth. Both the young men were soaked through, flecked with mud. The worst of it was the crimson, vivid even against their dark winter coats, the stench of it overpowering.

"Get to bed all of yer…" Fagin said, in little more than a whisper, addressing the wide eyed boys (not to mention Nancy who had just joined them, her own mouth open in shock).

No-one moved, they were all transfixed, awed, dumbstruck, horrified at the sight before them. Bill's head was bent, his eyes closed, biting his lip until a trickle of blood ran down his chin…None of them had seen Bill like this before. Something about him had changed. Something was missing.

"GET TO BED I SAID!"

The old man's sudden yell in the silence of the flat prompted the gang to action. They all scuttled back to their beds, muttering amongst themselves, speculating what had happened, mourning the loss of their friend…

Nancy stole one last look at Bill before she too scarpered; he looked defeated, helpless, weak…it scared her to see him like that; to her, Bill was always strong, powerful, the toughest and bravest of them all! But that expression on his face, that look of hopelessness…

She shivered as she pulled her blanket around her, trying to compose her mind to sleep.

--

"Wh-what happened, my dear?" Fagin asked, his voice hoarse. He looked from Jeremy to Bill and back again, as if trying to discern the image before his very eyes.

Bill explained as best he could, his own voice strained and constricted with held back tears. He wasn't going to cry…Bill Sykes never cried. Never.

Fagin nodded slowly as Bill told his tale, shaking his head sadly at its conclusion. If only he hadn't…if only… He couldn't even string together a coherent sentence inside his head, let alone something that would help stem the flow of grief that threatened to overwhelm them all.

Poor lad…he'd shown such promise…

He bent down to Bulls-Eye's level, managing to wrest the coat from the dog's fervent grasp. Most of the items of china and porcelain were chipped or damaged beyond repair from their trek across the cobblestones but everything else was in relatively good condition, save for the bloodstains. They could be washed out, with a bit of hard work.

Bill looked away as Fagin rummaged in Jeremy's old coat, feeling sicker than ever. Didn't he see that he was robbing a dead man? Didn't he care?

"Wot're we gonna do wiv 'im Fagin? I couldn't just leave 'im there…"

Fagin nodded, trying to be businesslike as a way of covering up his grief. "You're right, my dear…you were right to bring him back…he could've been identified by the traps and that would've done us no good…"

Bill ground his teeth, furious that Fagin could be so self-absorbed at a time like this. Fagin clearly sensed his disapproval and changed tack, explaining that they would have to bury the young man's body at the first possible opportunity, alias just now. They couldn't just leave it in the doorway overnight; that would never do.

He and Bill proceeded outside, but not before Fagin had procured the tools necessary for digging a modest grave, as well as an old blanket for a shroud. They proceeded along the bridge and down the worn wooden steps, eventually spotting a good place, set aside from the walkway, close to the 'back way' that Fagin had discovered years ago; a ladder, inside a trapdoor in the main loft, led to a large gap in the wall of the building beneath the chimney; a well disguised escape route, should escape from the den ever be necessary.

Fagin certainly hoped not.

The place was caked in dead leaves and frost, not to mention rotting wood and debris, but the pair made quick work of clearing a space for the grave to be dug. The digging was easy work, since the dirt beneath the leaves was wet from the storm.

Bill covered Jeremy's body in the blanket, having closed his friend's eyes for eternal sleep. He looked peaceful now, somehow, despite the dirt and blood, the bullet in his back. He placed the body as gently as he could into the crudely dug hole, biting back tears as before. He couldn't cry, he wouldn't…

"It's not weak to cry, my dear…" Fagin said softly, laying a hand on Bill's arm.

Bill shook his head firmly and shrugged Fagin off, turning his back on the grave and stalking away, trying with all his might to deter the lump forming in his throat, the tears welling in his eyes…

"Goodbye, my dear…" Fagin whispered, tugging a brooch (Jeremy's worthiest item) from his pocket and placing it beside the covered corpse. "You died a hero's death, and I couldn't be more proud." He sniffed. "We'll miss you, my dear…"

He filled in the grave, his hands shaking slightly as he patted the earth more firmly in place. He scavenged about to procure a suitable headstone, finally settling on the least rotten piece of wood he could find, for lack of anything better.

This done he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a sad smile forming on his features as tears began to fall from his eyes. It's not weak to cry…it's not…

Bill, watching the proceedings from a few feet away, added his own parting words.

"Goodbye Jeremy…you were a true friend. I…I'll miss ya."

With that, he retreated up the steps and returned to the loft, huddling under his blanket and trying to stem the flow of thoughts whirling through his brain…he wanted things to go back to the way they had been…but that could never happen…

Nancy awoke suddenly an hour or so later, jolted awake from a terrifying nightmare. It could have been her imagination, but she was sure she heard sobbing from the bed next to hers.

If she wasn't dreaming she guessed Bill would want to be left alone, but at the same time she wanted to comfort him somehow, make him feel better. Leaning over slightly, she managed to wrap her arms around one of Bill's, in an awkward sort of hug.

Bill stiffened at her touch, realizing who it was and cringing at the thought of her hearing him cry. But, realizing she only did it to be comforting, he relaxed again, his breathing becoming more even as he drifted off to sleep.

Nancy smiled gently.

It wasn't weak to cry.

--

**A/N:** Sorry for all the sadness my dears, but that's the way my plot goes, I'm afraid. D:

Hope you're all enjoying this (despite the subject matter); please R&R!

I'm hoping Bill wasn't too ooc there… XD


	19. Refelections & A Runaway

Chapter Eighteen – Reflections & A Runaway

The den, on the morning following Jeremy's impromptu funeral, even when everyone was up and about, was as silent as the grave. The usually rowdy gang was quiet as new fallen snow; hardly a word was spoken, the usual laughter and noisy cheer dispersed and scattered.

Fagin didn't care that any of the lads, or even Nancy, went out on the job as they ought. None of them were even sure he noticed. Norman and Frankie would normally have used Fagin's inattentive state as fuel for a fun prank, but not today.

Not now.

Bulls Eye stuck to Bill's side, as if he knew he was the one in most need of comfort, as he'd seen the deed done. This wasn't a wise move on the dog's part; Bill's grief was now more furious than melancholic and no-one dared to stop him as he attacked the defenseless animal. Naturally Bulls-Eye put up a fight; the flat soon was filled with the sound of snarls and furious curses.

"Bill, for gawd's sake, stop it! Wot did the dog do to you?"

Nancy somehow managed to drag the now whining Bulls-Eye away from Bill, the latter of whom did not look pleased at all at her intervention. The dog soon wriggled free from Nancy's grip and scarpered to the opposite side of the loft; Nancy and Bill heard the boy's intakes of breath as they saw the bruises Bill had left him with.

He was clearly not in the temper to be crossed, and yet Nancy had stood up to him…

Bill glowered at Nancy but said nothing. What was there to be said? What he'd just done was pointless and pathetic, even he knew that, and yet he wasn't about to justify it, especially not to her. She wouldn't understand; she would never know the pain he felt...

--

As the day wore on things didn't improve. It was as if time had slowed down and was grinding to a standstill, to give everyone longer to wallow in grief. Tempers were running high (not just in the case of a certain Mister Sykes) and levels of tolerance were low, so much so that Fagin had no choice but to lock the gin cupboard and take Bulls-Eye outside to keep him away from Bill. Ezra's stuffed owl wasn't as comforting as usual, however, and Fagin was forced to let the dog back in, making sure that Bill was well out of the way lest he fly into a temper and attack him again.

Eventually, Bill had had enough of the flat for the day; he felt trapped and confined, stuck in a time of sorrow and pain with no way out, no escape. He wasn't used to this feeling of confinement, and it made him uneasy. He got to his feet and headed for the door, donning his hat as he did so. Bulls-Eye thought better than to hurry to his side.

"Where are you headed, my dear?" asked Fagin, looking up from the handkerchief he was picking the marks from, his brow furrowed. He tried to sound friendly but failed miserably, managing only to sound shrewd and more than a little suspicious.

Bill didn't reply, simply opening the door and leaving it to slam shut behind him, hurrying down the wooden steps, hands thrust deep in his pockets. The cold, crisp air served to relax him a little, reliving some of the tension and stress that he still felt from the previous night. But he knew, even though his heart felt a little lighter, that this burden would never be lifted.

He was a changed man; now more than ever.

He needed time to think, time to be alone, away from the gang, far from the suffocating, choking sadness and anger that had the den in an iron grip…he didn't know where he was going, he didn't care.

It was getting late by this time, the sun already beginning its descent, and yet the young housebreaker was still having trouble piecing together the fragments of his thoughts, coming to terms with a reality he would have never thought possible, a reality he'd never imagined, even in his wildest dreams or most haunting nightmares…

Jeremy was gone, he knew that. But how could he go housebreaking without him? How could he continue as he had done, without his faithful companion at his side? Although he'd never admitted it, Jeremy was his best friend in the gang, although the name Bill Sykes didn't readily loan itself to such sentimental terms.

And then, of course, there was Nancy; feisty, quick witted and brave in the face of adversary, such as himself. When it came to her, Bill wasn't sure how he felt. She had been the bane of his life when she first came to the gang and yet…there was something about her, he wasn't exactly sure what, that made him feel…

Bill shook his head, abruptly throwing that train of thought off its tracks. What was he thinking? He must be mad! Not as mad as Fagin, but mad enough to even suppose-

_Fagin._

Something clicked into place in Bill's mind; at last he had found the answer to all his questions, the reason for Jeremy's demise. It had been Fagin who'd forced them into housebreaking, Fagin who'd found that house, Fagin who'd insisted they do the job together…Bill didn't stop to take into account the role he'd played; how it had been he who'd forced Jeremy to join him although the latter was scared senseless at the very idea, how it had been his enthusiasm and vigour for such a dangerous job had inspired similar feelings in his friend, how he'd hated Jeremy for allowing his old insecurities to resurface…

He was running now, running back to the den…it wasn't the dog who deserved to be battered and bruised, it was Fagin; a more cruel, heartless and mad old man Bill had never known… Up the steps, across the bridge, he could almost hear Fagin's panicked voice as he tried to feign innocence…

The door to the den burst open just as Bill reached it, and who should emerge but Fagin himself, a grubby bottle of gin clutched tight in one knarled hand. Bill stopped in his tracks at the sight of him; in the light of the dying sun, Fagin ceased to look vulnerable and instead looked threatening, with his wild hair and beard, the crazed look of old back in his eye.

Something was wrong, something new.

Before Bill could gather his thoughts enough to form the appropriate verbal assault he had planned, Fagin noticed him and hurried over, hurriedly stuffing the gin bottle in his pocket.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen Nancy in your travels would you, my dear?"

Bill hated the way his heart leapt at the sound of her name.

"No, I haven't," he said flatly. "Why? Where'd she go?"

"That's the thing, my dear. She went off at about three, to find you, I think, and she hasn't been back since! And now you're here without her…"

Bill was surprised; Nancy had gone to find him? Why? And where could she be, where could have gone? She hadn't been initiated to the Cripples yet, so she wouldn't be there…could she have gone late afternoon pickpocketing? No, that would have been foolish, with the weather this bad, no toffs would be about!

Why did Bill feel so worried, so apprehensive? He'd been all set to beat Fagin's brains out, and yet the mention that Nancy had disappeared had changed his fury to fear…

Fagin bit his lip.

"I was just about to go and-"

Bill shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt a sense of obligation; Nancy had gone after him, hadn't she? Gawd knows why…

"I'll go Fagin."

"As you wish, my dear…"

Fagin stared worriedly after Bill as he ran back the way he'd come.

The old man did wonder however, albeit momentarily, why his young ward had been in such a hurry to return to the den in the first place.

Surely there was nothing he wanted there.

Not now.

--

**A/N: **Spur of the moments plot twist which will lead, methinks, to some interesting character development. ^^

Hurray!

Please R&R!


	20. A Selfless Gesture

Chapter Nineteen- A Selfless Gesture

It didn't take long for Bill to find Nancy. She was sitting on the kerb of a near deserted pavement, arms tight around her knees. Despite her hunched and defeated looking posture, she was looking very pleased with herself.

"Nancy, wot on Earth are ya playin' a-"

"Oh, 'ello Bill! I've been lookin' for ya!"

Nancy seemed perfectly at ease with the situation, smiling at Bill as she got to her feet and dusted herself off. Bill hadn't the faintest idea why she was looking so pleased; she'd gone out to find him and hadn't, and now she was sitting on the pavement in the cold for no apparent reason…it didn't make sense!

"So Fagin says."

"Fagin?" Nancy's eyes were wide with worry. "You've been back to the den?"

"That's 'ow I found out you weren't there. The old 'un's worried."

Nancy laughed.

"Why should 'e be? I've just been out on the job like normal!"

"You told 'im you were goin' to look fer me…I came back wivout ya, of course 'e's gonna be worried!"

Bill wasn't sure why he was getting so het up over this; since when had he cared about how Fagin felt? Since when had the tinkling laugh of a child made him feel so strange, so different? He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind of these thoughts once and for all.

"I did go out lookin' for ya; no-one 'ad any clue where ya'd gone an' we was all gettin' worried. So I went out, see, but I couldn't find you nowhere. I came 'ere to look for ya part of the time-" Nancy gestured to the street; one of the richer ones lined with expensive looking shops and stalls. "Then I realized wot a great place this'd be for a spot of stealin'. There was a market on an' everythin'!"

Bill chuckled at Nancy's childlike ingenuity, his previous concerns and sorrow pushed to the back of his mind in the young girl's presence. Her energy, her enthusiasm, her smile…

"See, look wot I got!"

Carefully checked there was no-one about to see them, Nancy crouched down and began rifling in the pockets of her dress, distributing her wares onto the pavement for Bill to see. There were three paper bags crammed with sweets, two heavy looking wallets, six brightly coloured handkerchiefs, a miniature wooden figurine of an owl and another of a dog (the second slightly chipped), a small posy of flowers and a brown leather dog collar, a silver tag attached at its centre.

Bill's eyes widened with every new item Nancy produced; clearly the market had been selling all sorts for her to have acquired such a variety of strange and unusual items. He picked up the miniature owl and examined it, his brow furrowed.

"Wot's all this then?" he asked Nancy finally, placing the figurine back down beside her other trinkets.

The girl beamed up at him.

"They're presents, see? The sweets're for Norman, Frankie an' Morris, the wallets an' handkerchiefs are for Fagin, the owl's for Ezra an' the dog's fer Archie, since 'e likes Bulls-Eye so much. Tha' dog collar's for Bulls-Eye; we can't go losin' our mascot, can we? I was gonna get you a nice bottle of gin but it wouldn't've fitted in my pockets after this lot…sorry…"

Bill found himself blinking back tears at Nancy's selfless gesture; tears of incredulity, tears of pity, tears of humbleness. She'd risked getting caught, all to get them presents! What a stupid but…generous thing to do…

The next thing Bill knew, he had knelt down to Nancy's level and engulfed the smaller child in an embrace.

Nancy appeared stunned at first by the spontaneity of it all, but she hugged him back all the same, her grin returning to her face. Had she just seen Bill blinking back tears? Was he, Bill Sykes, actually hugging her? Just for pinching everyone some stuff? Just for going out on the job?

Nancy wasn't as confused as Bill with regards to her emotions; she was surprised that Bill was acting this way; he usually didn't act as though he cared, about anyone or anything, but now it was clear to her that he _did_ care. About the gang. About her.

"Thanks, Nance," Bill said as he let go of her, ruffling her hair in an affectionate manner. "You're a good 'un."

Nancy giggled as Bill's large hand tickled the top of her head.

"You are too, y'know," she said, bending down to retrieve her presents and stow them carefully back in her pockets. "I think you're…well…_nicer_ than you let on. You just need to show it more." She smiled up at him again, having pocketed the last of her goods, wondering what his reaction would be.

Bill raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?" he said, in mock incredulity. "An' who says I ain't nice, eh?"

He fished about in the pocket of his coat; he hadn't gotten about to emptying it of the smaller trinkets from the previous nights housebreaking. There must be something in there he could give to Nancy, anything at all…

His fingers closed around a necklace, from one of the many jewelry boxes the house had contained. This, however, was one of the plainer items of jewelry; a simple black velvet choker with a small diamond at its centre. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and Bill sincerely hoped Nancy would like it.

Acting as though this was what he'd been looking for all along, Bill tugged the necklace from his pocket and handed it to the girl before him with a small smile.

Nancy gasped, her sparkling blue eyes wider than ever at the sight of the necklace.

"Oh my…Bill, 'ow did ya…"

Bill chuckled.

"Just put it on, will ya?" he said, his tone more lighthearted than he thought it would have been for a long time, were it not for Nancy.

Nancy eagerly fastened the black velvet cord about her neck, and then hurried to the nearest shop window to see her reflection. The necklace was perfect in every way…it didn't matter that Bill had stolen it, how else was he supposed to get it? It was beautiful, it made her feel beautiful…

She turned back around, her smile wider than it ever had been.

"Thank you Bill!" she cried, running over to him and hugging him tightly, although she was barely higher than his waist. "Thank you so much!"

"Don't mention it…" Bill said, beginning to feel a little awkward at Nancy's excited exclamations. It was only a necklace, for gawd's sake, not a whole box of the things…

After a moment or two of Nancy clinging onto him without word being spoken, Bill gently prized the girl off him and suggested they get back to the den, to hand out her gifts. She agreed, her smile seemingly affixed to her face, taking his hand in hers as they walked back to the den.

Before they proceeded up the worn wooden steps, however, Nancy let go of Bill's hand and darted away, tugging the posy of flowers from her pocket as she did so. Bill followed her at a more leisurely pace, just in time to see her kneel at Jeremy's crude headstone and place the flowers atop his grave.

She returned to Bill's side after a minute or two; Bill pretended he hadn't seen her; she clearly didn't want to discuss it.

"Bill?" she asked just before they reached the door, glancing curiously up at him, the diamond on her necklace twinkling in the starlight, the sun long gone.

"Yeah?"

"We're friends now, ain't we? True friends? Forever?"

Bill smiled fondly at her and nodded.

Bill and Nancy.

True friends.

Forever.

--

**A/N: **Thank you, Katarina Sparrow, for inspiring me when writing Nancy. ^^ I love ya, my dear!

Here's hoping you all enjoyed this very fluffy chapter (here's also hoping a certain Mister Sykes stayed in character!) XD

Please R&R!


	21. Arguments

Chapter Twenty – Arguments

Bill and Nancy may have been friends but he and Fagin most certainly weren't. Almost every night they would argue over something; it would start out as something trivial but then turn to more serious accusations. The boys made themselves scarce during these scenes and even Nancy, headstrong as she could be, knew it was not a good idea to try and stop Bill, even when he struck Fagin to the ground in his rage. She wanted to; she hated to see him so furious and she hated seeing Fagin get hurt, but she knew that it would be fruitless to attempt to stop them.

They would only start arguing again.

It was a fact of life now, seemingly a ritual, that nearly every evening Bill would fly into a temper, yelling all sorts of things out of grief, anger, spite… Fagin would try to calm him down, often resorting to plying him with gin, but his simpering only made the situation worse.

No-one was entirely sure why Bill got so furious. It had been a month now since the night of Jeremy's death, but, in Nancy's company at least, he'd seemed happier. He'd seemed to be past grieving, or at least keeping it hidden from the others.

But whenever Fagin attempted to talk to him as he did the others, whenever he made the slightest attempt to be friendly or comforting…even offering Bill a glass of gin…all Fagin said or did made Bill take a turn for the worse.

Tonight was no different.

The trouble started when Bill asked Fagin for his cash from the previous night's housebreaking. He went on the job alone now, yet he still managed to bring back plenty worth a pretty penny. It seemed, to all outward appearances, that he was getting along fine without Jeremy.

In truth, without his faithful partner, the job had become much harder, more dangerous than ever. And Bill wanted rewarding for it.

"Gimmee me cash, Fagin."

Fagin looked up from his account book, squinting up at the eighteen year old through the filthy lenses of his spectacles. Bill may only have been eighteen, but he looked, and acted, much older. Well on his way to becoming the greatest man of all time.

Gingerly, the older man extracted the amount of coins he deemed satisfactory for Bill's efforts from his purse; three shillings. This done, he returned to his accounts, biting back a frustrated sigh as he saw just what those shillings had cost him. The gin cupboard would only be half full after this.

Bill examined the coins, his usual frown deepening.

"I gave you plenty time to get this sorted Fagin," snarled Sykes, his voice low and dangerous. "An' this is all I get?"

Fagin winced. Bill didn't have to yell to make him afraid; the acid in his voice was almost as terrifying as his loudest shout. He didn't risk raising his head from his book, instead scribbling down a couple of figures, hoping Bill would leave him be.

"I said, _this is all I get_?" Bill's voice had risen slightly now, the hand holding the coins curled into a fist.

The boys and Nancy, seated at the table during this exchange, darted away to their beds as fast as they could, not wanting to be witnesses to the scene that was sure to follow, the scene that always seemed to follow.

"I don't think you realize just 'ow dangerous this job is, do ya Fagin? All you care about is sellin' the stuff, stuff I risk my neck fer, sellin' it so you can nip down the Cripples an' buy yourself some gin! Eh?"

Fagin couldn't stay silent forever; he had to say something in his own defence…

"I totted it all up, my dear…I've given you what the stuff is worth! Besides, I don't spend _all_ the cash on gin, just some of it…"

"You dare to take tha' tone wiv me, you avaricious old skeleton?"

Fagin quickly fell silent again, hunching further down in his chair as if doing so would somehow defend himself against Sykes' verbal blows.

"_Will ya look at me when I'm talkin' to ya_?"

Fagin raised his head again and turned to face Bill, risking standing up and taking a few steps backwards, Bill advancing on him all the while. He fumbled in his pocket for the purse again, hoping a couple more shillings might appease the housebreaker.

"Oh yes, tha's right, give Bill the cash an' Bill'l leave ya alone! Not a chance Fagin. Not after wot you've done! All the money in the world won't undo wot you did, you old villain?"

The old man was evidently confused; their 'business discussions' had never taken this turn before. What was Bill talking about?

"I…I don't…understand…I don't know…what you m-mean…"

It was the work of a moment for Bill to pin Fagin to the wall, his hand clenched tight about the older man's throat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Frankie scurry further under his covers, and Archie cover his head with a pillow to try and blot out the sounds of the fight.

"You know very well wot I b***** well mean, you stinkin' old fence! You know! You're the one tha' killed 'im; you're the reason e's dead! It's all your fault an' you know it, you're just too much of a coward to admit the truth! Tha's all you are Fagin, an' tha's all you'll ever be! A cowardly, rotten, villainous old fence, getting' everyone else to do yer dirty work!"

He shook Fagin roughly by the neck as if to drive home his point and heard, with great satisfaction, the sound of the old man's head hitting the stone wall. Fagin's feet were dangling in mid-air, his breath coming in short sharp gasps.

"Bill…"

"Nothin' you can say is gonna change 'ow I feel about this, Fagin. I trusted ya; I thought ya were a friend. Then you send us off to that house, knowin' it's dangerous, knowin' wot could 'appen, knowin' full well tha' we could get seen, or caught, or even bleedin' _killed_! But tha' didn't matter to ya, did it? Ya thought there'd be no blood on your 'ands..."

Bill spat contemptuously in Fagin's face; the older man didn't even try to cringe away.

"You as good as pulled the trigger."

With that, Bill let him go. Fagin fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, like a marionette whose strings have been cut, wheezing as he tried to return to breathing normally. Bill sneered and stepped over him to reach the gin cupboard; pulling out a bottle he took a large gulp, ignoring Fagin as the latter tried to get back on his feet, having to grab onto the wall for support, his limbs shaking.

Having finished his drink, Bill turned to see Fagin, just as his benefactor began hobbling over to return to his accounts. He stuck out his foot; Fagin tripped and stumbled, clutching at his desk to keep from falling to the floor again.

Bill chuckled derisively before stalking away, in the direction of his bed. He noticed some of the boys watching him, eyes wide, mouths open in shock; he could have sworn he saw tears in Ezra's eyes.

"Wot're you starin' at, eh?"

Immediately the boys all ducked beneath their blankets.

Satisfied with their reaction, Bill continued towards his bed as before, but not before giving Bulls-Eye a swift kick for good measure. The dog didn't growl as it used to, it simply whined and padded away, tail between its legs, head bowed.

--

Bill awoke only a few hours later; it was not yet daylight and a candle was still burning in the main loft. He sat up in bed, and could just make out two voices if he listened hard enough.

"I don't know why he's turned out so…violent, my dear…"

"'E's not a bad man Fagin, honest," Nancy replied gently. "'E's Bill."

--

**A/N: **A bit of a shocker after all that fluff, eh?

Here's hoping you enjoyed it anyway, violent as it was; please R&R! ^^


	22. When Discord Doesn't Desist

Chapter Twenty-One – When Discord Doesn't Desist

The next morning things seemed to be back to normal…well, as normal as things ever could be in an attic full of pint-sized pickpockets with Fagin at their head. He and Bill didn't speak a word to each other, but the rest of the gang spoke enough to warrant them not joining in. They were noisier and rowdier than normal, as if trying to pretend nothing had happened, as if trying to pretend they hadn't been scared; Morris most of all, his laughter uncomfortably fake.

Breakfast over with; Fagin dismissed the gang as normal before scuttling back to his quarters for a well deserved kip. He didn't notice, therefore, that Nancy and Morris were engaged in a heated discussion, their voices lost amongst the chatter of the others.

Bill took no heed of the pair either, focused as always on his bottle of gin, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table in a bored manner.

"You saw wot 'e did last night with yer own eyes, or are you blind?"

The other boys fell quiet as Morris' voice got louder; Norman and Frankie exchanged confused looks, having not been concentrating on the earlier part of the conversation. Ezra bobbed behind Archie, stuffed owl tucked under his arm, looking scared.

"I ain't blind Morris; it's you that's blind!" Nancy snapped back, small hands curled into fists. "All you see is a villain, a monster! But he ain't that! 'E's got a heart, y'know, 'e's got feelin's, just like any of us!"

"Oh really?" said Morris, raising one eyebrow, much more confident when faced with Nancy than with Bill or Fagin. She was little, she was a girl…what could she do to him? "An' wot d'you know about 'is feelin's then, eh Nancy? 'Ow do you know 'e ain't as tough as 'e makes out 'e is?"

Nancy flushed, her eyes blazing, her knuckles turning white.

"Why d'you insist on treatin' 'im so badly?" she snapped back, but not as quickly or with as much defiance as she would have wanted to. "Wot's 'e ever done to you, eh?"

Morris' own hands curled into fists, as he recalled all the times Bill had taunted him, railed at him, punched him, kicked him, conveniently forgetting that it had been he who had sparked their initial hatred of each other. Nancy noticed this and it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Wot?" growled Morris, seeing her expression.

"It's funny seein' you tryin' to look tough Morris. Least 'e can look tough an' actually mean it!"

Norman and Frankie chuckled at this, and even a furious glare from Morris couldn't shut them up. Even Ezra risked a giggle, hiding his face behind the owl's dilapidated wing.

"You won't be laughin' so much in a minute," snarled Morris, attempting to adopt a menacing tone but in vain, merely sounding as if he had something lodged in his throat. Nancy let out a splutter of laughter, only to find herself reeling backwards seconds later, her cheek stinging from where Morris had struck her.

"Why you little-"

Nancy leapt at the offending party, knocking him to the ground. Morris gave a yell of surprise and fright and tried to escape, but Nancy was having none of it. First he insulted Bill, and then he smacked her around the head for trying to defend him! Where was the justice?

Norman and Frankie, of course, were egging Nancy on; Frankie even going so far as to act as a commentator, relishing the fact that Morris was getting beaten hollow. Ezra and Archie backed hurriedly away as the fight grew wilder, Archie with his hands over his eyes, quaking in fear. First Bill and Fagin, now Nancy and Morris…it seemed the discord in the household would never desist.

Bill chose this moment to intervene. Slamming his bottle down on the table he started towards the struggling pair. It was harder to pull Nancy off of Morris than he would've imagined; she was still kicking and squirming even as he dragged her away, still spitting furious curses at the felled boy.

Morris would have attempted to get back onto his feet again but with Bill looming over him (not to mention the housebreaker's heavy boot on his chest to prevent his escape) he realized that any attempts to do so would be futile.

"For gawd's sake!"

The curtain to Fagin's alcove was whipped furiously aside as the old man stuck his head out to survey the scene.

"Some of us are trying to sl-"

He paused, taking everything in. Nancy, breathing hard, red in the face, fists still clenched, glowering at Morris, Morris prostrate on the ground, whimpering, Bill trapping the latter on the floor with his boot, Norman and Frankie looking scared, their quiet counterparts even more so.

Fagin sighed.

"Never mind."

The curtain swished shut once again; clearly Fagin didn't want to get involved.

After a short while, Bill removed his foot from Morris' chest, instead bending down and grabbing him by the neck, holding him aloft as he had done to Fagin on the previous night. Morris squealed and whimpered, his face contorted in an expression of pure terror.

The others waited with bated breath; what would Bill do next? What would he say?

"It ain't right to 'it a lady Morris," Bill said with finality, dropping the startled boy on the ground as suddenly as he had lifted him from it. "Learn some manners."

There was an awkward pause. Morris at last got to his feet, staggering a little as he tried to regain his balance. Norman and Frankie looked to be on the brink of laughter at Morris' humiliation but quickly decided against it, seeing the look on Bill's face. Dragging Morris, Ezra and Archie with them, they made a hurried exit; the door slammed shut behind them, making Nancy jump.

What had come over her? She wasn't violent, was she? Had she really just attacked Morris? He'd insulted Bill, hadn't he, her Bill, her friend? But she'd hit him…she'd never actually hit anyone before…

Bill shook his head, a small smile appearing on his face. He was, once again, impressed. Nancy could really pack a punch! He was pleased he hadn't stepped in sooner; the look on Morris' usually smug face had been priceless.

"Wot wos tha' all about then, eh Nance?" he said good-humouredly, returning to his gin.

"Uh…" said Nancy, not sure whether or not to tell Bill what she and Morris had been fighting about. He probably wouldn't like it.

Bill laughed, downing the rest of the bottle and getting to his feet once again, donning his hat as he did so.

"Where you goin'?" asked Nancy curiously, glad for an opportunity to change the subject.

"On the job," Bill said, still smiling. "Wiv you. Tha' alright?"

Nancy grinned and nodded. That was more than alright in her book.

--

**A/N: **Major thanks to my dearest Virtual Nancy Buddy, without whom this chapter couldn't have been written. :3 Here's hoping you liked it!

Please R&R!


	23. A Fine Life

Chapter Twenty-Two – A Fine Life

"Where'd you learn to pick pockets like tha', eh?"

It was noon. Bill and Nancy had been out on the job for a good three hours and had just stopped for a bite to eat, sitting on a low wall to examine their wares. Nancy had got much more to show for her work than Bill; she was still small and innocent looking, it was nothing short of a miracle if Bill managed to swipe so much as a handkerchief undetected, despite his previous prowess in the field.

"Dunno," Nancy shrugged, taking a large bite of the mutton pie she held. "'S just 'ow I always got stuff, I guess."

"It's impressive anyway, a little girl like you getting' away with so much!" Bill teased.

Nancy frowned, resisting the urge to chuck her pie crust at Bill. Little; where did he get off calling her little?

"I ain't little," she snapped childishly, polishing off the remains of her pie before she had second thoughts about throwing it at Bill. "I'm seven!"

Bill was sure he had visibly paled. She was _seven_?! Nancy was only seven? That meant she must have joined them when she was, what, five? Or thereabouts? What was Fagin playing at, bringing back kids that young?

"Wot?" Nancy laughed, seeing Bill's incredulous expression. "Don't tell me you 'ad no idea 'ow old I wos till I told ya!"

"Come off it!" Bill chuckled, trying to pretend he had done exactly what Nancy accused him of. "Seven?"

"You find that so 'ard to believe?" Nancy said, eyebrows raised.

"Well…yeah. You don't act seven…or look it."

Nancy laughed.

"I'll take tha' as a compliment then, shall I?"

Bill nodded fervently and tried to distract himself from the captivating child before him by returning his attention to his own pie, only half eaten.

Luckily, Nancy failed to realize the awkward moment, simply content with sitting on the wall and swinging her legs, waiting for Bill to finish so they could once again roam the streets. She spotted Norman and Frankie across the road and stopped her leg swinging to watch them; Norman casually tugged a gentleman's handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Frankie behind his back. Frankie stuffed the handkerchief under his cap and the pair went on their merry way, Norman bursting into a fit of giggles as soon as the man was out of earshot.

Nancy smiled and turned back to Bill.

"You done?" she asked him, swiping the last of his pie from his fingers and eating it herself. "Never mind, you are now! C'mon!"

Bill rolled his eyes at Nancy's childlike eagerness, hopped off the wall and followed her down the street, watching her as she carefully extracted a wallet from a passing man's coat, stowing it inside her dress pocket with practiced casualness. Just for a moment he found himself envying her; she could still pick pockets, and so easily too, while he had to risk his life every time _he_ went on a job.

Well…he was rewarded more handsomely for his housebreaking than he ever had been, even in the prime of his pick pocketing years. Fagin had gone so far as to write a verse concerning him and put it in his old pick pocket song; Bill had found it highly amusing at the time, not to mention proud that he had a stanza all of his own.

He began to whistle the tune absentmindedly as he caught up to Nancy; she and the rest of the gang knew the song also (another of Fagin's initiation rituals) and soon she was whistling it along with him. They stopped, however, when people started giving them strange looks; they didn't care about the looks themselves but the unwanted attention that it brought them.

They continued with the job in relative silence and, as the clock chimed three, they made their way back to Fagin's, content with the day's work and glad of each other's company. Bill couldn't recall a better day than this one from recently; a thought which made him frown inwardly yet continue to smile on the outside.

Yes he, Bill Sykes, was smiling.

--

Later that evening, dinner having been eaten, Frankie produced a battered pack of cards and proposed a rousing game of Speck or Speculation. Everyone gathered around eagerly, except for Fagin who decided he would simply watch (he knew he would have beat them all hollow, so there was no point in his participating).

Nancy had only played cards with the boys on a couple of occasions, and she wasn't particularly good at it (even when Bill subtly tried to give her hints). After a couple of rounds it was clear that she was getting nowhere. The game disbanded for a minute or two so they could all replenish their mugs of gin and Fagin drew Nancy to the side for a 'pep talk', not realizing that Bill was listening in on the conversation.

"A word of advice, my dear," Fagin said, a small smile playing about his features.

Nancy nodded seriously, waiting to hear what Fagin to say next. Doubtless he'd played many a game of cards in his time and would have something useful to say on the subject.

"If at first you don't succeed," Fagin continued, with the air of a philosopher imparting wise words to the foolhardy. "Cheat, repeat until caught then lie."

Nancy giggled. He must be joking.

Fagin rolled his eyes.

"Take it or leave it, my dear," he said, before returning to his chair and downing a glass of spirit.

"Let me guess…" said a voice in Nancy's ear, causing her to start until she realized who it was. "He told you to cheat."

"How'd ya know tha' Bill?" she asked, as the pair of them returned to the table.

"That's wot 'e tells everybody to do. Tha's why winnin' these games are so 'ard; everyone cheats."

"Oh."

The game recommenced but Nancy didn't heed to Fagin's advice, although it meant she would have won more. She may have been a thief, and she may have been best friends with a housebreaker, but that didn't mean she should cheat.

At long last the game ended; Bill had won, as he always did, much to the amusement of Norman and Frankie when they saw the thunderous look on Morris' face. One by one the gang trooped off to bed, until it was just Nancy, Bill and Fagin sitting at the table; Fagin repairing a torn handkerchief, Bill counting his winnings and Nancy simply watching the pair of them.

The flat was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the grate and the clink of Bill's coins. It was calm and peaceful, surprisingly so.

After a minute or two of serene silence, Fagin heaved a contented sigh, examining his handiwork before getting up from his chair to replace the handkerchief on the wall where it usually hung. This done he returned to the table and poured himself yet another glass of gin, a contented smile gracing his worn features.

Bill noticed this and raised an eyebrow, stowing his coins in his waistcoat pocket.

"Wot you lookin' so 'appy about Fagin?" he asked, though not harshly. He and Fagin still hadn't returned to their previous good terms (and there were doubts they ever would), but he could talk to him now without threatening to kill him. It was a start.

"I'm just thinking, my dear," Fagin said, taking a leisurely sip of gin. "About what a fine life we lead. Wouldn't you agree?"

Bill and Nancy nodded in unison.

A fine life indeed.

--

**A/N:** Some awkward fluff and an amazing life lesson from our dearest Fagin. What's not to like? XD

Please R&R!


	24. Old & New

Chapter Twenty-Three – Old & New

A year had passed since the night of the card game, and much had changed. The gang had significantly grown in numbers, so much so that Bill had had the unusually tricky assignment of stealing blankets when he was on the job. There were now around twenty boys in total, if Bill and the other founding members of the gang could be called boys.

Bill was nineteen now, Morris only a few months behind him. Norman and Frankie were both sixteen, Ezra and Archie fourteen. Nancy was now eight, and sweet as ever and Fagin…well, the numbers didn't really matter. He was still as eccentric and cranky in the mornings as he always had been, although one of the gang's younger members (short on tact) was quick to point out that his hair was turning grey at the ends. This was a fact to which Fagin hadn't taken too kindly (suffice to say the punishment had involved a sharp reprimand dealt with a toasting fork).

If food had been a problem before, it had increased twentyfold as the year wore on. Often complaints of hunger and appeals for more food were heard and promptly ignored. The flow of gin, however, remained steady; clearly Fagin considered the supply of spirits a better investment than the supply of food for his charges.

The afternoon was cool and crisp as late spring in London generally expected. All the boys, and Nancy of course, had been out on the job for a few hours. Despite the fact that pick pocketing was harder than ever for the likes of Morris, Norman and Frankie, Fagin couldn't persuade them (not that they wanted to) to take up housebreaking as Bill had done. Although they still admired him they had come to realize that the job wasn't as glamorous as they'd first thought.

They and Bill would have to leave the den soon; they knew that, Fagin knew that. But the old man couldn't bring himself to make them leave, or work up the courage to do so. Bill, he knew, had more than enough cash from his various jobs over the years to rent or even buy himself a modest flat, but the others…what would become of them?

As it turned out, that fine spring afternoon would solve this problem, at least for one member of the gang.

Fagin's boys had taken to working together in pairs or packs; Norman and Frankie, Ezra, Archie and a new boy named Tom, Morris and his newfound comrade Jake, Bill and Nancy, to name but a few. Oftentimes they would spot one another in their travels; only pausing to acknowledge each other if they were unlikely to be noticed. This was how Bill and Nancy came to witness what passed.

Bill kept one eye trained on Nancy as the young girl wandered casually over to a nearby street vendor, pinched a loaf of bread and continued on her way. He kept a fair distance from her to avoid suspicion on his part, but he was always watching her, always careful.

He wouldn't like to see her get hurt.

A sudden shout from the opposite side of the street caused Bill's gaze to wander, his eyes widen, his mouth fall open in shock. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't…

"Thief! Thief! My wallet! Stop that boy! Stop him!"

Bill saw Morris clumsily stuff the wallet into his pocket as he took off at a run, tripping over his own feet, stumbling and cursing, dodging in between people and stalls, desperatley trying to deter the crowd. But they would have none of it.

The chase was over before it had even begun.

Jake, Morris' partner in crime, was nowhere to be seen.

As Bill watched Morris being hauled off, he turned to see Nancy at his elbow, her face ashen, her lip trembling.

"Why…why didn't you try and stop 'em?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Bill was shocked at the question; what could he have done? If he could have done anything, would he? This was Morris; the irritating, egotistical prat! Why should he care what became of him? One less irritation in his life. One less mouth for Fagin to worry about feeding. More gin for him. That all sounded good, as far as Bill was concerned.

"Wot d'you mean?" he knew he shouldn't ask the question, he didn't want Nancy to be upset, but at the same time he had to try and justify what he'd done, although it was nothing…

"Wot d'you mean 'Wot d'you mean'?" Nancy cried vehemently, not caring how ridiculous she sounded or how much unwanted attention she was helping the pair of them receive. "You could've stopped them, you could've 'elped! Now 'e's goin' to the clink an' it's all your fault! You as good as took 'im there!"

"Shut it Nance!"

Had he snarled so fiercely because she was causing an un-needed scene, or because she was blaming him for what had happened? Was it simply coincidence, the way she phrased her words, or had it been a deliberate jab at how he'd accused Fagin? Did he, Bill Sykes, feel _guilty_?

No, that was impossible.

He never felt guilty, he never felt regret, he never cried.

Never.

Nancy, stung, flounced off to continue the job without a last look back, leaving Bill to the curious and often scrutinizing looks of passersby who had witnessed Morris' capture, and the subsequent argument between Nancy and himself.

Morris was gone.

Nancy was furious with him.

He'd yelled at her, he'd hurt her.

Bill cursed. Why had everything gone so wrong?

He heard someone tutting, very close at hand. Irritated, he looked for the source of the noise. A small boy was standing a few feet away, hands stuffed in his striped-trousered pockets, his upper half clad in a brightly coloured checked waistcoat and a blue velvet tailcoat much too big for him.

Bill frowned at the boy's attire, but before he could comment the boy himself spoke up.

"Poor chap. 'E'll be off to the slammer now, either that or Aus…Aus…thingy. Long name. Anyway, 's if tha' ain't bad enough, then I see you yellin' at tha' sweet little girl. Wot did ya go an' do tha' fer eh, me flash mate?"

Bill's left eye twitched. Who was this kid to accuse him of what he could and couldn't do? Who was he, full stop?

He was beginning to form an appropriately violent response but his lips had barely opened when the boy scarpered, running like a frightened rabbit, his coat tails flapping behind him. Bill saw just in time who he was running from; a pair of policemen, clearly 'on the beat', glancing suspiciously about.

Bill slunk away as surreptitiously as he could, forgetting the strange boy in an instant as he spotted Nancy a few feet away, her hand deep in the pocket of an unsuspecting toff. He chuckled, before remembering he and Nancy weren't on the best of terms.

Seeing her begin to wander off again, Bill followed her at a run. He had to apologize, and now was a better time than never.

--

It was dinner time before Fagin realized Morris was missing. Bill hadn't wanted to tell him, and nor had Nancy, not wanting to face his wrath when he found one of his oldest hands gone. He had doled out the usual amount of food and the boys had eagerly gathered around the table. It was only then that the older boy's absence was noticed; he was prone to pushing the others out of the way to get his share.

"Did any of you see Morris this afternoon, my dears?" Fagin asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

They all shook their heads. Even Nancy, who never lied even when it would save her own skin from one of Fagin's reprimands, managed a tiny shake.

Fagin frowned.

"Surely one of you must have seen him…he's always one of the first back!"

Silence.

"_Where is he_?"

Nancy could take it no longer, she didn't want to lie to Fagin, she hated seeing him get so angry; she knew what had happened to Morris, she'd seen him get caught, she couldn't just keep the truth a secret and hide behind a lie, Fagin needed to know…

"'E's g-gone, Fagin," she stammered, her whole frame quivering with fright as all eyes turned to watch her.

"_What d'you mean gone_?" Fagin sounded frantic, his tone higher than normal, and more desperate.

Bill stood up then, towering over Fagin as his elder was still seated.

"Don't you talk to Nancy like that you old fence!" he snapped.

"I'll talk to her how I flippin' well please, _my dear_! For the last time of asking, _where is Morris_?"

Nancy swallowed and tried hard to keep her voice from shaking.

"'E….'e got nabbed….by the traps…'e pinched a man's wallet an'…an' they saw 'im…"

Gasps and murmurs went up across the board; Fagin had turned a deathly white. First Jeremy, now Morris? What more harm could come to his beloved charges? Why was everything going so spectacularly wrong?

"Ah…I see, my dear, I see. Thank you."

A pause.

"Get to bed all of yer. Yes Bill, that means you too. Bed. Now."

Bill stopped, his hand halfway towards the gin bottle. He wondered momentarily why Fagin had singled him out, before realizing he didn't care. He wanted to think anyway, and he was tired. What better reason to retire?

His mind was whirling as he tried to drop off to sleep that night, the afternoon's events replaying inside his head, some of them grossly exaggerated somehow, making him feel even worse than before. He imagined he'd let the police stop Morris, he'd led them to him…he could have sworn he'd been the one to steal the wallet and blame it on the younger thief…had he really struck Nancy in their fight and simply forgotten about it?

No.

He hadn't done that; he hadn't hit Nancy.

And he never would neither.

--

**A/N: **A very strange chapter.

I hope Morris getting caught wasn't dreadfully clichéd. D:

Don't worry, someone will soon take his place! ^^ (Hint: You saw him in this chapter! Who is he?! XD I'm sure you all know).

And some foreshadowing at the end; aren't I nice?

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up; please R&R!


	25. Midnight Meeting

Chapter Twenty-Four – Midnight Meeting

Seven o' clock the next evening; not too light, not too dark. A perfect time to catch out unsuspecting pedestrians foolish enough to wander where Bill did. Having thus acquired three pocket watches, six wallets and a snuffbox, Bill made his way towards the Cripples, in search of a well earned drink.

The pub was unusually quiet this evening; there weren't as many men playing cards, nor as many who'd popped in for their evening meal. There was, however, a man sitting at Bill's usual table; seeing the housebreaker approach, however, he scarpered. Bill didn't have to say a word; he had reputation enough.

It was around ten minutes later when Fagin arrived, looking furtively about as if on the lookout for traps, although he and Bill both knew perfectly well there would be none.

"I don't see why you wanted to have a little chat with me here, my dear," Fagin said, eyes still darting about nervously as he took his seat opposite Bill. "Why not back at the flat? Here we may be overheard…"

"Better 'ere than at the den Fagin," Bill said curtly, taking a large swig of gin. "I don't want…them all to 'ear about it…"

"Explain."

"I'm goin' to leave the flat Fagin."

The old man's reaction wasn't what Bill had expected; he could have sworn he saw Fagin grin before re-arranging his features into a look of appropriate concern.

"Leave? What d'you mean leave, my dear? You mean you want to cut off from the gang, you've done your sentence, eh?"

Bill chuckled.

"'Course not; y'think I'm stupid? Wot I mean is, I'm going to find myself a house-"

Comprehension dawned on Fagin's face.

"-I feel there's no point stayin' with yer if I don't pick pockets like the rest, y'know?"

"Oh really?" Fagin said, his tone pointed. "What's that then?" He indicated Bill's pocket where, if one looked close enough, one could just see the end of a pocketwatch chain protruding, glinting in the dim light of the candle on the table.

Bill cursed. Clearly Fagin was as sharp eyed as he'd ever been.

"It's noth-"

"It most certainly is not nothing, my dear. Hand it over, and anything else you've got crammed in those pockets of yours."

With a scowl, Bill did as he was told. He handed Fagin the pocketwatches, the wallets and the snuffbox, Fagin's eyes widening with each new item set on the table.

"My my…you haven't lost your touch at all, with pickings like these!" he crowed. "You can still pick pockets as well as you ever did, I see no sense in you leaving!"

Although Fagin needed his elder boys to leave and pursue other career paths if he didn't want them to get caught, he was loath to part from them.

They had become like the family he never had.

Irritating as Norman and Frankie could be, they were also fun-loving, full of laughter. Ezra and Archie were very quiet, to be sure, but they always brought back plenty. And Bill…cowardly as Fagin became in his presence, there was something about him that made the old man desperate to make him stay. He was a prime pickpocket and an even better housebreaker; if he let him leave…

Suffice to say the gin cupboard would never be the same again.

"Wot you thinkin' of?" said Bill, his voice breaking into Fagin's worried thoughts. The old man had gone quiet, biting his lip and fingering the snuffbox, enough evidence to suggest to Bill that he was worrying about something.

"I'm simply reviewing the situation, my dear," Fagin said, replacing the snuffbox on the table. "I don't think you should leave…not yet at least. You've proven to me here that you can still pick pockets; there's no reason to leave until you're certain housebreaking is the only option. Even then I think you should get a house quite close by; that way you can still bring the goods to me and I'll get you your cash…Not only that, but I'm sure the gang'd like you to visit 'em once in awhile…"

Bill nodded without pause for thought. Fagin was right. True, he wasn't technically picking pockets anymore, but did the technicalities matter? (He was amazed that Fagin wasn't more suspicious about his methods of getting the stuff; it was nearly eight o' clock!) Besides, he himself didn't want to leave the gang; what had he been thinking? They needed someone to look up to, and Fagin wasn't up for the job. And then there was Nancy…

"It's agreed then, my dear," Fagin said with a grin. "I'll tell you this, Bill…if you keep this up-"

"-you'll be the greatest man of all time." Bill finished for him. "I know Fagin, I know."

Fagin chuckled.

"Well you will! Don't you forget it!" He stuffed Bill's loot in his pocket, intending to go and sell some of it so there'd be enough food for a half-way decent breakfast in the morning. "What're you going to do now, my dear? Surely you can't spend the evening sitting here all by yourself?"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"'Course I ain't gonna spend the evenin' just sittin' 'ere; there's gin back at the flat I ain't gotta pay fer!"

Fagin chuckled.

"Whatever you say, my dear, whatever you say. I'll see you later."

With that Fagin swept from the tavern, his coat billowing behind him even in the light breeze. Bill leant back in his chair, quietly reviewing his own situation.

--

Twelve peals from the steeple clock indicated that midnight had fallen on London. Bill was making his way back to Fagin's; the streets were still alive even at this hour with beggars, paupers and thieves.

He turned down a familiar alleyway, the shouts, screams and sobs of the streets dying away as he walked. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, making the narrow street darker than ever, so much darker that Bill slowed his walk to ensure he was going in the right direction. Unseasonable night-time weather for spring, usually the streets were only this dark in winter…Bill sighed. This would've been a good night for a break-in…

"Watch it!"

Bill looked down to see who had the gall to reprimand him, only to see that same boy he'd seen the previous day, eccentrically dressed as ever, a frown on his wide eyed, impish features.

A look of recognition filled the boy's face as he stared at Bill.

"You again, my man? Sumfin' tells me it ain't coincidence tha' we keep bumping into each other, eh?"

Bill rolled his eyes again. This kid was crazy.

"Wot you doin' on my turf then, eh?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Your turf_?" Bill repeated incredulously.

"Mmhmm," said the boy proudly. "This is my patch, where I kip an' all. An' you're on it!"

"I ain't seen you round 'ere before."

"That's cos I just found this place, innit? Runnin' away from the beak an' all."

Bill nodded. This boy, whoever he was, on the run from the magistrate! He didn't look much like a hardened criminal…

"You pick pockets then?" he asked, matter of factly.

"No! Well…maybe….possibly…probably…positively…yeah, that I do. Wot of it?"

Bill pondered this. The kid was evidently a superb hand, on the run from the beak at his age. Fagin would surely appreciate another pickpocket to bring in the cash, especially since he had changed technicalities. Not to mention the old man would appreciate him and dote on him even more for bringing the kid back…

"I'll tell ya wot. I know a gent wot could use a pickpocket like you. Lodgin's, money, all of it you'll get fer free, s'long as you give 'im wot you pick up."

"You'll take me to 'im?" The child's eyes sparkled, he was evidently eager to get off the streets, and Bill's prospect sounded to good to be true to his young ears.

"Tha's where I'm 'eaded." Bill paused, pleased that the boy had taken the bait so easily, recalling how Fagin had enticed him with the same offer nine years ago.

"Wot's your name anyway?"

The boy sounded a little wary, but still eager as he had been at the offer of bed and board.

"Shouldn't I be askin' you tha'?" Bill quipped back, the same question he'd asked Fagin during their first encounter. Strange how it all seemed to be coming back.

"My name is Jack Dawkins!" the boy said proudly, bowing low. "An' you are…"

"Bill Sykes."

Jack's eyes widened.

"You gotta be kiddin'!"

"Wot d'ya mean?"

"You're Bill Sykes? _The_ Bill Sykes?"

Bill was taken aback. Clearly his reputation had preceded him.

He nodded stiffly.

"C'mon then, let's be 'avin ya."

Jack nodded eagerly and scampered after his new acquaintance, pelting him with questions about housebreaking and pickpocketing all the way back to the den. Bill answered what he felt like, hating how the boy reminded him of his old friend in his younger years, now buried crudely beneath sodden soil.

--

**A/N: **Just for you my dear Katarina Sparrow. ^^

Here's hoping everyone liked this little chapter; please R&R!

Today's the second to last day of Work Experience, updates will be back to normal soon! =)


	26. Wonder & Whispers

Chapter Twenty-Five – Wonder & Whispers

When Bill opened the door to the flat, it was to see all the boys sound asleep; Fagin dozing quietly, his head on the table, his arms as a pillow. The housebreaker gave Dawkins a moment to observe the scene before he broke the tranquility.

"_Fagin_!"

Fagin woke with a start, nearly toppling off his chair. A quick glance at his pocketwatch informed him it was a quarter to one, hardly a time for Bill to be making such a row. He glowered at the pair of them, Jack Dawkins and Bill, as they approached, the younger boy looking wary.

"I don't recall ordering a wake-up call Bill," Fagin snapped, rubbing his head and continuing to glare. As he noticed the boy, however, his expression softened a little. "Who's this then?"

"This is Jack Dawkins," Bill explained. "Prime pickpocket. Thought you might appreciate an extra 'and."

Fagin smiled widely, his interrupted sleep forgotten entirely at the prospect of a new pickpocket. Dawkins smiled hesitantly back; he was thrilled at the praise he'd received from Bill, although the man hadn't directly been talking to him.

"I hope," said Fagin, grasping the boy's hand and shaking it firmly. "I'll have the honour of your intimate acquaintance. I'm very glad to see you, my dear, very glad indeed!"

Dawkins' smile grew a little broader.

"You know what I think…" Fagin mused, indicating a couple of spare chairs so his companions could sit down.

"You _think_?" Bill muttered under his breath, just because he could.

Dawkins giggled, but Fagin didn't notice.

"I think we'll need to establish just how prime a pickpocket you are, my dear," Fagin said, steepling his fingers. "See my handkerchief? See if you can take it out without my feelin' it."

Even before Fagin had finished his sentence, the handkerchief was clutched in Jack's grubby hand, the boy's grin wider then ever.

Fagin was startled.

"You…you didn't even move!" he spluttered. "How on earth did you do that?"

"'E picked it before, Fagin," Bill said in his usual monotone, unable to help a grin of his own at Fagin's flabbergasted expression. "When ya shook 'is 'and. 'E took it off ya then."

Dawkins nodded.

"I…I see…" said Fagin weakly, standing up and pulling another handkerchief from one of the ropes strung about the beams. "Let's see how you do when I'm moving about, my dear…"

And so, for the next half an hour, Bill watched, enraptured, as Jack Dawkins stole handkerchief after handkerchief from Fagin's pockets, all with the practiced ease and air of a true professional. He was only close to being caught once, and even then he was able to make up a brilliantly believable lie as to why he'd been about to relieve Fagin of his wallet.

Finally, having had the twentysecond handkerchief stolen from his pocket, Fagin had had enough.

"Well, well, well, my dear…" he said, as he busied himself re-stringing the handkerchiefs. "I don't think I've seen a hand like that since when Bill here was your size, and that's saying something. You're a natural my dear, truly talented!"

His task complete, Fagin hobbled over to the gin cupboard and poured himself and his companions some rather large measures.

Dawkins, looking very pleased with himself, sat back down at the table, grinning from ear to ear. He knew he could pick pockets well, but it wasn't the norm that thieving urchins got praised so highly. He accepted a glass of gin from Fagin and took a big gulp; Bill and Fagin watching him intently all the while.

"Well now…" Fagin said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, sly grin returning to his face a after the initial shock of Dawkins' brilliance. "You can't go around with a name like Jack Dawkins with such talent as that, my dear! It's far too plain; wouldn't you agree Bill?"

Bill nodded absentmindedly, lost in thought. The boy was brilliant, he had to admit it. But even so…he reminded Bill too much of his old comrade for the housebreaker to appreciate him as he should, or even to like him as much as Fagin did. That infectious grin, those bright eyes, even his voice…

Bill simply couldn't bring himself to like the boy.

Why had he brought him back? To help Fagin? Since when had he cared about helping Fagin? Fagin could look after himself, surely!

"Bill?"

Fagin's voice invaded his thoughts.

"Wot?" Bill said, snapping back abruptly to the real world.

"I said, how does the nickname Dodger sound to you? He ducks and weaves and dodges like anything, eh?"

"It needs summit," Bill said in a bored voice, taking another gulp of gin.

"Such as?"

"I dunno," Bill said, with a shrug. "I'm just sayin'."

There was a few moments silence.

Then…

"I have it! The very thing!" Fagin cried, clapping his hands together with glee. "Artful! The Artful Dodger! How does that sound to you, my dear?"

Jack Dawkins, henceforth known as the Artful Dodger, jumped up from his seat and bowed low to Fagin, his enormous grin growing, if possible, even wider.

"Tha' sounds very cunnin', Mister Fagin, very clever indeed! The Artful Dodger it is!"

Fagin cackled with mirth, clapping Dodger on the back.

"Excellent, my dear!" he cried. "Absolutely excellent! What do you say, Bill, my dear? Excellent?"

"Wotever you say Fagin…" Bill said, with a roll of his eyes.

Fagin chuckled.

Dodger looked across the table at Bill, a small frown appearing on his features. He didn't particularly want to face the wrath of the great Bill Sykes, and yet it appeared to him that the great Bill Sykes wasn't entirely pleased with the idea of nicknames.

"Mister Sykes?"

Bill was surprised at being addressed by Dodger. "Wot?" he said, a little irritated with how he and Fagin kept pestering him. Was it any wonder he liked going to the Cripples for his gin nowadays?

"Do you 'ave a nickname then?"

Bill shook his head and took another sip of gin. What a foolish idea; him, have a nickname? Nicknames were for people with no sense of identity. Either that or an identity crisis.

A minute passed in silence; Dodger contemplating his new name, Bill sipping his gin, and Fagin staring at the pair of them. They didn't seem to be getting on…

He clapped his hands to get their attention.

"Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dears, but it's almost three in the morning! We should all go and get some sleep…Dodger, my dear, you'll meet the other lads in the morning, and Nancy of course."

"Nancy?" asked the Artful, curious as ever. He glanced over at Bill. "Is she the one tha'-"

"Yes," said Bill stiffly, getting to his feet. "G'night."

With that he stalked over to his bed, trying to ignore the Dodger and Fagin as they whispered together.

"_Why's 'e so…angry, Mister Fagin?"_

"_He's going through a rough patch, my dear…his best friend got shot during a housebreaking expedition and he hasn't been the same since…"_

"'_E didn't tell my about that!" The Artful Dodger sounded intrigued._

"_He wouldn't tell you now, would he? Not after how it's affected him…"_

"_Oh. Yeah."_

_A moment's pause, in which Fagin could be heard taking a noisy slurp of gin._

"_I'll tell you something, my dear…" he resumed._

This was the part that strung the most.

"_If you go on, the way you've started, you will be the greatest man of all time."_

Bill scowled as he huddled under his blanket, now much too small for him, trying to fall asleep. But he could still hear their voices; still hear the false sincerity with which Fagin said those last words.

The greatest man of all time…that was him, wasn't it?

Or was it The Artful Dodger?

--

**A/N: **Oh dear…Dodger and Bill don't seem to like each other, eh?

-shakes head sadly-

I'm so cruel. D:

Please R&R, my dears! ^^


	27. Jealousy

Chapter Twenty-Six – Jealousy

"Who is 'e?"

"As if I know!"

"Can we poke 'im?"

"No, stupid!"

"Blimey, is 'e _dead_?"

"Don't look dead to me!"

"You 'ang around wiv a stuffed owl; nuffin looks dead to you!"

When the Artful Dodger awoke, blinking sleep from his eyes, it was to find a rag-tag bunch of boys surrounding his bed; some curious, some unsure, a couple weren't even boys at all, young men at most. One of the older boys, a short, freckle faced lad with a mop of brown hair, began poking Dodger, only to have his hand slapped away by his companion.

"I told yer not to poke 'im Norman!"

"Can I 'elp it? Pokin' things is fun!"

"Freak."

"It's true! You try pokin' 'im!"

"_No-one will be poking anyone if they want grub!_"

The boy named Norman rolled his eyes.

"Fagin…" he muttered.

"Who…who are ya?"

This was Dodger, trying to establish the situation.

"Well, I'm Norman," said Norman proudly. "An' this 'ere is Frankie. Then there's Ezra, Tom, Jake, Eddie, Archie, Ricky an' James. An' we ain't the only ones neither!"

Dodger nodded slowly, trying to put names to faces. Norman's rapid speech didn't help any.

"Well," said Frankie, raising an eyebrow. "Are ya just gonna lie 'ere all day or are ya gonna come get grub?"

"Grub," Dodger said, getting to his feet.

Frankie put his arm around Dodger's shoulders, and Norman copied him.

"Now don't you worry 'bout a thing mate. We're all a bit mad 'ere but tha' can't be 'elped; 's all Fagin's fault. You stick wiv us, alrigh'?"

That was fine by Dodger; he'd just pinched Frankie's pocketwatch. He wondered briefly how long it would take him to notice.

The majority of the gang were seated round the breakfast table when Bill emerged, closely tailed by Nancy. He had neglected to tell her about the arrival of the Dodger and thus she was very surprised at seeing him there, wolfing down breakfast like nobody's business.

"Who've we got 'ere then?" she asked as she and Bill approached the table.

"Bill didn't tell you?" said Fagin, glancing disapprovingly at his oldest charge. "Nancy, my dear, meet the Dodger. The Artful Dodger."

Dodger looked up at Nancy; she smiled warmly at him before taking her accustomed seat. But, in those few fleeting seconds, Dodger was bowled over. Head over heels in love. Even after the conversation had changed tack he found himself sitting there with a soppy grin on his face (that is until Frankie elbowed him and told him to pass the bread).

Breakfast over at last, Fagin instructed the boys to go out on the job. He eagerly anticipated how the lads would react to their newest mate's amazing pick pocketing skill. Sure, Bill didn't like him, but then Bill was one to hold a grudge.

"So…Nancy…" Dodger said, attempting to strike up conversation as they made their way towards the Cripples to hitch their rides. "How'd you come to meet up with Fagin an' this lot?" He was genuinely interested, but at the same time it was the only thing that came into his head as a suitable excuse to talk to Nancy, being the curious new kid and all.

Nancy opened her mouth and was about to reply, but Bill chose that moment to catch up to the pair of them, Bulls-Eye at his heels. The dog had taken to following him around again, battered and scarred as it was, but Bill found he didn't mind. It came in useful with his new method of picking pockets after all.

"Good mornin' Mister Sykes!" said Dodger, not missing a beat. "An' Bulls-Eye too!"

Bill rolled his eyes at Dodger's tone; he appreciated the affection, certainly, but all the same, the painful memories his enthusiasm made resurface were not at all pleasant, not endearing Dodger to him in the slightest.

Dodger, sensing it was useless to attempt conversation, hurried on to catch up with Norman and Frankie, his whole demeanor becoming all the more rambunctious in their presence. He was like a brother to them; fun-loving and full of laughter just as they were.

Bill walked beside Nancy, hands jammed deep in his pockets, eyes trained on the cobblestones. Nancy noticed this and looked worriedly up at him.

"Wot's wrong Bill?" she asked gently.

"Tha' kid…" growled Bill. "Tha's wot's wrong."

"Wot's wrong wiv him? 'E seems nice enough!"

Bill shook his head.

"Right. Nice."

Nancy frowned.

"Why're you getting' so 'et up about 'im?"

"Why d'ya think? 'Ave you seen the way 'e acts, like 'e's the best of the best? An' the way 'e looked at _you_? Didn't ya notice _that_?"

"Wot's wrong wiv 'im lookin' at me?"

"Never mind."

Clearly Nancy had failed to notice the look in Dodger's eye, or his stupid sappy grin. But Bill had noticed, and all the worse for the Dodger that he had.

Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, but Bill was jealous.

Dodger could pick pockets just as good as he once had, even better perhaps. And it made perfect sense, really, if he fell for Nancy…they were about the same age, both very open in their feelings…that was one thing Bill wasn't. He bottled his frustration, his anger, his every natural feeling inside; he hid his true emotions behind a mask.

Could he ever admit how he felt about Nancy?

And could she ever feel the same way about him?

--

The days pick pocketing passed quickly; Bill stuck close to Nancy's side all day as he usually did, while Dodger went off with Norman and Frankie. They all met up again at the coach station, Dodger laughing heartily at a joke one of the others had told.

Bill didn't laugh along with them as he once might have done. He simply glowered. Dodger's carefree, cheerful laugh…it spooked him how much he sounded like Jeremy. Or was he imagining that? Was he just thinking that so he had more reason to hate Dodger?

Nancy noticed his frown, but said nothing, thinking it best not to pester Bill. He didn't like when people pestered him; like Jeremy had, like Dodger had. Best to leave him be.

--

"What've you got then, my dears?" said Fagin eagerly as the gang trooped in, Norman closing the door behind before hurrying to join them.

The boys distributed the day's pickings onto the table with pride, Fagin making appropriate and encouraging remarks as they did so. What little Bill had picked was still as good as ever; three heavily lined wallets, a pocketwatch and a large silver snuffbox.

Fagin gave a low whistle of approval, commending Bill as 'a true professional' before robbing the wallets of their contents, half of which he handed to the housebreaker.

Then it was Dodger's turn. The boys and Nancy watched, astonished, as Dodger produced from various pockets ten handkerchiefs, eight wallets and two pocket watches, one inlaid with what looked to be emeralds.

Fagin's eyes sparkled as bright as the jewels.

Nancy gasped.

Bill's frown deepened.

--

**A/N:** Can you say awkward moment? =/

Please R&R! ^^


	28. A Winner, A Loser

Chapter Twenty-Seven – A Winner, A Loser

"Well, well, well my dear…" Fagin said, snatching up the emerald encrusted watch from the table and examining it closely. "This is…well…" He turned the watch over in his hands, examining its face before it was snatched from his grip by Norman.

"Flippin' 'eck! These're real emeralds! Real 'uns!"

The other boys crowded around eagerly, exclaiming their astonishment and incredulity. Even Nancy joined them as they clamoured around the watch; she was astonished at how much he'd managed to bring back, and in such a short space of time! The wallets were all heavily lined, the handkerchiefs without marks and the pocket watches spoke for themselves.

During these proceedings Bill hung back, as immovable as ever, Bulls-Eye on the ground as his heels, chin on his paws. Fagin didn't appear to notice them, nor did anyone else, so enraptured were they by Dodger and his brilliant pick pocketing.

After the initial incredulity and exclamations of delight had worn off, Fagin bustled away to get what he called 'celebratory gin'. Bill would have scoffed at this, he didn't recall any celebratory gin after _his_ first pick pocketing job, or even his first successful housebreaking, but it was gin nevertheless.

When Fagin re-appeared from the alcove with the gin and began pouring glasses, Bill wandered over to join the group, not even trying to hide his obvious dislike of Dodger's prowess as he sat down and snatched up a measure. Norman and Frankie were at Dodger's side, laughing and joking away like anything, still admiring the emerald pocket watch with glee. The gin was doing nothing to quell the gang's excited spirits; soon a bunch of the younger ones were belting out the pickpocket song for all they were worth.

Bill felt a little better when they sung _his_ praises, but not good enough.

He wasn't sure he could explain how he felt…cheated, somehow…robbed. In just one job the Artful Dodger had taken away his loyal admirers and lackeys; instead of deferring him as they once had done they were all eager to get into the new boy's good books. It didn't help that Dodger was thoroughly enjoying the attention, or that Nancy was just as full of praise as the others.

Fagin disappeared again momentarily during these proceedings; when he re-appeared he was bearing a small black top hat proudly in his hands, as if it were the Crown Jewels.

"Here you are my dear," Fagin said, placing the hat reverently on the Dodger's head. "I don't want to be all ceremonial about it, but this is for your hard work today. What good is a thief without a good hat, eh?"

He then tugged his own off his head and bowed low.

"My hat is off to you, my dear. Excellent work today, simply excellent."

The gang cheered and applauded wildly, Norman and Frankie beating their gin mugs on the table and chanting something about hats, proudly waving their own about in the air. Bill was so intent on watching their celebrations with his usual scowl that he didn't notice Nancy was beside him until she spoke.

"Bill? You alright?"

Bill attempted to crack a smile, for her sake, but he couldn't manage even the simplest smirk.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look it…"

"I told yer, Nance, I'm _fine_."

Nancy nodded, not sure what else to say. Bill wasn't fine, and she knew it; she could tell by the way his hands were curled into fists, the way his frown never left his face, that nasty glint in his eye. She suddenly felt very guilty; she'd been so excited about Dodger's achievement that she hadn't even praised Bill's work as she always did. Was that why he was upset?

"Bill…your stuff was just as good, honest! He just got more stuff cos e's smaller, yeah? 'E can't 'ouse-break, but you can! An' you can still pick pockets, sorta. An' look, you've got a 'at; it's on your head! Fagin said good thieves 'ave good 'ats; an' you've got one!"

She was desperately saying everything she could think of to try and make Bill feel better, but it was clear the housebreaker was having none of it. He muttered something unintelligible before stalking over to where some of the boys had set up a game of cards.

Nancy sighed dispiritedly, bending down to pet Bulls-Eye (the dog for once had decided not to follow Bill) before following him to the table.

After about half an hour, only Bill and Dodger were still in the game. It was a close game; they were both superb players. But Dodger was winning, even if only narrowly. Most of the boys were egging him on, especially Norman and Frankie, but there were a few rallied behind Bill, Nancy among them.

The Artful Dodger won the game.

If he'd been anyone else, Bill would have considered acknowledging his win with a nod, some small gesture of defeat. After all, it was only cards. But this game hadn't just been about cards, not to Bill. Dodger evidently sensed this, looking guiltily from the cards splayed on the table to Bill's face. Fagin, who had wandered over halfway through the game, looked at Bill too. Everyone did.

Abruptly Bill got to his feet, throwing down his remaining cards. The boys behind him took an involuntary step backwards, as did Nancy. What was he going to do; how could he salvage his wounded pride? Would he fly at Dodger? Would he take his winning from him? Would he-

He did none of these things. Instead, Bill simply stalked away from the table, disappearing to his bed. He could have sworn he heard at least twenty sighs of relief.

He may have been behaving like a complete idiot for all appearances, but he wasn't. Bill Sykes wasn't an idiot, even if he had lost at cards to a boy half his size. He'd had enough; true Nancy had returned to his side during the game of cards, but it was obvious from the way she'd commended Dodger and fawned over that bleeding watch of his…

When Nancy came to her bed later that night, Bill pretended to be asleep. Only when he heard Nancy's soft breathing as she slept did he heave himself from the bed, donning his hat as he did so. He didn't bother waking her for parting words; he'd be back soon enough. Would she even listen to a word he said?

He doubted it.

The main body of the loft was quiet; all the boys who had only hours earlier been so rowdy, now quietly slumbering in moth-eaten blankets. As Bill headed for the door he spotted Dodger's hat, on a peg by the boy's bed. Having battered it sufficiently to make a significant, if not childish impression, he continued as he had done before.

Reaching the door he whistled softly for Bulls-Eye; the dog bounded to his side.

Without a last look back, Bill fled Fagin's den, leaving his dearest companions and treasures behind.

--

When Nancy awoke the following morning, she found Bill's bed empty.

And she wept.

He was gone.

--

**A/N: **Thank you Katarina Sparrow; without you, my dear, this chapter could not have been written (nor this story for that matter!) You are a constant source of inspiration to me; thank you so very much my dear. :3

Please R&R everyone! ^^


	29. Bethnal Green

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Bethnal Green

"Grub's up, my dears!"

Nancy heard the familiar summons, and yet at the same time she was deaf to them.

Bill was gone…and it was all her fault…

"Nance?"

It was Dodger. Nancy sniffed mournfully and attempted to make her countenance appear as normal, but she couldn't stop the tears trickling silently down her cheeks. Dodger looked from Bill's empty bed to Nancy and back again, as if trying to deduce what had happened. He could guess, but he wanted to hear it from Nancy; maybe it wasn't as he thought…

"Nance…wot's wrong? Wot 'appened?"

"B-Bill left…" Nancy stammered, wiping her eyes to no avail. "'E's gone…"

"You sure 'e ain't just gone out on the job?" Dodger asked, trying to be comforting.

"'E would've said somethin'…'sides, 'e wouldn't go out wivout 'is breakfast…"

Dodger chuckled awkwardly, before being silenced by a glare from Nancy. Where could Bill have gone? Where could he be?

She pushed past Dodger and hurried over to Fagin, her frantic worry apparent in both voice and stature.

"Fagin," she said breathlessly. "D'ya know where Bill is?"

Fagin looked up from the fire where he'd been burning some toast, a small frown appearing on his face. What did she mean? Bill slept in the bed next to her, didn't he? He wasn't out here in the main loft; Fagin had been up a couple of hours ago and would have surely seen him leave if he'd gone out on an early job…

All this the old man endeavored to explain to Nancy, his own tone growing more frantic as he saw the girl's eyes well with tears. The boys at the breakfast table, hearing this exchange, looked at one another in shock and surprise. Bill had gone? Where had he gone? Why had he left?

"I'm afraid I don't know where he is, my dear…" Fagin finished guiltily, biting his lip, no longer caring that his toast was turning black and crumbling to bits. "If I knew, I'd tell you…"

"But…where do you think he's gone Fagin?" said Nancy hurriedly, determined not to give up. "Why would he just…leave…like that? He didn't say goodbye…or anythin'!" She let out another miserable sniffle, wiping her nose as delicately as she could with the back of her hand.

Fagin sighed and quickly handed Nancy his handkerchief. The girl took it and blew her nose apologizing profusely afterwards for mucking it up. Fagin waved it off and attempted to salvage his toast, trying to come up with a suitable answer to Nancy's question.

It seemed Bill Sykes had finally decided to leave the den, and leave it for good. Gone to get a place of his own, just like he'd said those few nights ago at the Cripples. Fagin had assumed he'd stay for longer, but since he'd brought Dodger back (had it been only two nights ago?) those plans had dwindled to nothing.

Was Dodger the reason Bill had left?

--

It hadn't taken Bill long to find himself a flat; it was finder's keeper's in the real estate market, especially in this area. The flat was situated in Bethnal Green, only a twenty minute or so's walk from Fagin's. The place was clearly abandoned and unused; a small, two roomed space with only a few cupboards, a table, three chairs, a minute stove and a double bed to its name.

Bill felt no qualms about taking the place as his own; he needed a flat and this place suited him just fine. The mattress was uncomfortable, but at least it was better than his bed at Fagin's place. Getting to his feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he began inspecting the cupboards, as if hoping to find one full of gin like at Fagin's, but no such luck. He would have to get some at the Cripples; it wasn't as if he had anything else to do this morning.

He called for the dog and left his new abode, locking the door behind him. It wasn't as if there was anything worth stealing, not yet anyway, but Bill was one to take precautions.

--

Despite Bill's impromptu departure, Fagin instructed everyone to go out on the job as usual, as if nothing had happened. Unlike usual, however, he followed them out the door, making his way to the Cripples with them and seeing they set off safely. He guessed it would only be a matter of time before Bill turned up here; he had a lot of explaining to do.

As it turned out, Fagin only had to wait for around half an hour, keeping himself occupied with a penny dreadful, until Bill arrived at the tavern. The younger man did a double take as he noticed Fagin sitting there, but he quickly arranged his features into their usual expression as he made his way over to him, grabbing a mug from a passing serving girl's tray as he did so.

"I didn't expect to see you here, my dear," Fagin said in a falsely pleasant tone, folding up the newspaper and stuffing it in his pocket the better to talk to Bill.

"Very funny Fagin," growled Bill, taking a large gulp from the tankard. "You've got such talent; a real joker, you are."

Fagin chuckled wryly. "I see you didn't leave your sense of humor behind, eh my dear?"

Bill said nothing, and so Fagin continued.

"Why did you leave my dear, and so suddenly too?"

"I told yer I had to leave, didn't I?"

"You did, but-"

"I've got myself a place. At Bethnal Green."

Fagin stopped protesting; his face now showed a mix of relief and intense interest. Bill had managed to find himself a flat, and in such a short space of time! But then…why had he left; he hadn't wanted to leave the gang before! But then he'd brought Dodger back…

"You didn't just leave for convenience, my dear…" Fagin muttered, at last coming to a conclusion.

"Wot d'you mean?" Bill snapped, a little too quickly.

"I know for a fact my dear that you don't want to leave the gang nor, might I add, the seemingly endless flow of gin."

Bill scowled. How did Fagin deduce these things?

"You have good friends in the gang, lads who look up to you and respect you, a roof over your head and so forth. And yet you run off to find yourself a flat the minute someone usurps you…am I not correct? You left, my dear, because of the very lad you brought back…you left because of Dodger, didn't you? You couldn't stand him taking your place!"

"I 'eard wot you said to 'im Fagin. About Jeremy. An' about me."

Fagin bit his lip. He'd heard…

"About that, my dear-"

"Don't say anythin' Fagin."

Bill got up from his chair, slamming the mug down hard on the table. Fagin started at the young man's sudden movement, but said nothing as he had been asked. He looked up at Bill, a guilty expression clouding his face. He had to speak…

"I shouldn't have said that my dear-" He stopped himself. Bill wouldn't care for his apologies. He got to his feet, donning his hat.

"Nancy misses you, Bill."

Bill shook his head in disbelief. She didn't miss him; she'd be happy now with Dodger.

Nancy would be better off without him. He was no good for her.

--

**A/N: **Yes I'm a geek enough to know where Dickens said Bill really lived; Bethnal Green. Fagin's den was located at Saffron Hill if I'm not mistaken.

Gotta love Dickens and his informativeness. XD

And irony/foreshadowing much? –dramatic music-

Please R&R my dears! ^^


	30. The Last Laugh

Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Last Laugh

Three years had passed, and things had changed once again. Two boys were gone, but only one had come to take their place. Everything was changing, happening so soon…only one remained of Fagin's original gang since Bill had moved out, and that was Ezra.

Norman and Frankie had been transported.

--

"_Look Dodge! Over there, see 'im?"_

_Norman gesticulated in the direction of a particularly well dressed looking man, with a plum coloured tailcoat and a tall hat in the same velvety hue. Dodger nodded eagerly; a prime plant indeed. He was willing to bet that old toff's suit was made of the same material as the Queen's Sunday best._

"_Don't you worry 'bout a thing mate," Frankie interjected, grabbing Norman's arm. "You leave 'im to us! Learn from the best!"_

_Dodger laughed; he was the best of the three and they all knew it. But he'd let them show off and have their fun; what were friends for? The two pranksters were his brothers, his best friends; he had to let them share his glory. He contented himself with idling on the pavement opposite, watching as the chuckling pair made their way towards the old man._

_The pair proceeded as they always had done; Norman slipped his hand into the man's pocket, locked his fingers on his wallet and quickly extracted it, handing it fluidly to Frankie in one movement. However, Frankie was a bit slow in his acceptance of the wallet, and it slipped from his fingers to land on the ground. He hurriedly stooped to pick it up but not before he and Norman were noticed by a passing policeman._

_Dodger began to run forwards, not caring that his involvement would get him caught too. Suddenly his path was blocked by a passing omnibus, and he could proceed no further unless he wanted to be crushed beneath its wheels. When the vehicle had finally rumbled past, Norman, Frankie, the toff and the policeman had all disappeared._

--

There was news of the boys' sentence in the evening's paper; they were to be transported to Australia within the week. Dodger had told Fagin he'd seen them caught, and Fagin had dealt with him soundly for failing to bring them back, although there was nothing the boy could have done. But the article in the paper, seeing the boys' names in bold black letters…it chilled them all to the core. No-one went out on the job for a day or two, to be on the safe side, but nothing further was heard.

Norman and Frankie hadn't peached; they, the remaining members of Fagin's gang, were safe.

For now.

--

The year after Norman and Frankie's untimely departure, another boy arrived on the scene to take their place. He had been found and brought back to the den by Dodger himself; he was a much of a prankster as Norman and Frankie had been, perhaps even more so. Dodger was quick to take him under his wing; the boy was a natural pickpocket already and he and Dodger got along famously.

This boy's name was Charley Bates.

--

_The Artful Dodger was meandering down the road as usual, hat sitting proudly on his head, hands deep in his pockets, eyes scanning the bustling marketplace in search of a toff whose pockets looked in need of lightening._

_Spotting such a man at last, he made his way towards him, only to have another boy stick his hand in the man's back pocket the exact same time that he did. As the man turned to spot them, Dodger grabbed the boy's wrist and dragging him along with him, plunging deep into the melee that was the morning shoppers, trying to lose himself and his companion amongst the throng._

_It worked; despite the fact that they had been spotted, no-one appeared to be following them. There were neither cries of 'Stop, thief!' nor the shrill squeal of a policeman's whistle. Dodger continued to pull the boy through the crowd with him, not stopping running (or trying to in the crush) until he reached the streets with which he was more familiar._

_That had been too close…he could have been caught like Norman and Frankie…_

_Reaching the relative safety of an alleyway Dodger let go of the other boy's wrist, collapsing against the wall and trying to catch his breath. Having done so he looked over at his companion. He hadn't dashed off as Dodger had expected him to do, nor was he gasping for breath after their narrow escape._

_He was laughing._

"_Ha ha ha!" cried the boy, clutching his sides and rolling his head in all sorts of fantastic contortions. "Tha'…was…flippin'…FUNNY!"_

_Dodger raised an eyebrow._

"_It wos though!" exclaimed the boy, seeing Dodger's dubious expression. "We both tried to nab the wallet from the same toff!"_

"_Yes, we did," Dodger said, grinding his teeth. This kid had cost him his best pick of the day! Fagin would be cross with him now; even despite being the best of the gang, it didn't make Dodger's work any easier._

"_Who are ya?" said the boy, trying in vain to stop laughing._

_Dodger looked affronted, but then began to relax a bit. True, this kid had cost him his best pocket that day, but he seemed friendly…plus he hadn't blamed Dodger for the whole thing, merely shrugging it off as 'flippin' funny'._

"_My name is Jack Dawkins," the Dodger replied. "Better known among me more hintimate friends as The Artful Dodger!"_

"_Cor!" exclaimed the other. "I'm jus' plain old Charley Bates, me ol' mucker. D'ya reckon if I 'ang abouts wiv ya I can 'ave a nickname too?"_

_Dodger chuckled._

"_Course! Consider yourself at 'ome, Charley. Come on!"_

_With that, The Artful Dodger and Charley Bates became the best of friends, and made their way back to Fagin's den, in the highest of spirits._

--

These changes did not go un-noticed by Bill, who visited the gang frequently (if only to ask Fagin for his cash and surreptitiously see Nancy again). He knew by now that Fagin saw through his façade and realized his coming to discuss business as an ulterior motive for seeing Nancy, but the old man was wise enough not to voice his opinion on the subject.

Nancy was eleven years of age now, blossoming from a fair child into a beautiful young woman. She enjoyed the company of the boys however, mothering the younger ones and annoying the heck out of those her age. But she always had a soft spot for Bill; whenever he came to visit the gang her eyes would light up and her cheeks would turn a little pinker.

Fagin noticed this, as he noticed everything.

It made him laugh.

--

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up; last week of school and all that jazz. XD

Lots of stuff happened in this chapter, here's hoping it worked out OK!

Please R&R! ^^


	31. Some Living

Chapter Thirty – Some Living

Bill's visits to the gang became more and more frequent over the next few years. By the time Nancy was fifteen (and Bill twenty six) his visitations had become almost daily, and he oftentimes forgot to offer a plausible excuse, instead simply coming to talk to Nancy, or invite her to come to the Cripples with him.

It became increasingly obvious to everyone (and not just Fagin) what was going on. Fagin seemed indifferent to all outward appearances, but despite this, the whole affair didn't sit right with him. He knew Bill's character well…and having such a disagreeable and violent man paired with the kind and loving Nancy…

He had the suspicion this would all end in tears.

Not to mention Bill was constantly at risk of discovering Nancy's new 'occupation'…she was still furious with him and he still wracked with guilt…but what else could he have done? He knew this was the path she would have had to take someday…it just broke his heart that the time had come…

But Bill hadn't found out…

Not yet.

--

"Plummy an' slam!"

The door was opened by the Artful Dodger, his face ashen in contrast to Bill's unusually cheerful expression. The boy ushered the housebreaker inside and wordlessly scurried off to fetch him some gin. Bill thought nothing of it and sat himself down at the table, dumping his burlap sack of goods on the floor at his feet, narrowly avoiding Bulls-Eye as ever.

"Well well well, my dear…" said Fagin, rubbing his hands together with glee as he spotted the loot. "You seem in good humour tonight…might I ask why?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Bill said with a roll of his eyes, accepting a glass of gin from Dodger and taking a large swing. "Great haul at this one crib, I'm expecting a lot for it."

Fagin chuckled.

"As is your custom, my dear…" he said, extracting several items from the bag and scrutinizing them, muttering prices and other petty figures that only he cared about under his breath.

Bill ignored him, his gaze instead travelling around the flat and taking everything in. He still found it hard to believe that it had been seven years since he'd left the attic; the gang had changed dramatically, but it still felt the same somehow; comforting and familiar despite the multitude of new faces. One of his oldest friends still remained however, and it was her on whom his gaze was soon fixed.

Nancy was dressed to go out on the job and was busily adjusting her shawl about her shoulders as Bill approached her. When she turned to face him, a small smile on her face, she was silently praying he wouldn't notice how much she'd changed…it was bad enough that Fagin could see how broken and lifeless she was…

"Nance?" Bill asked gently; a not so rare feat for him where the young woman was concerned.

"Mmm?"

"I wos just about to 'ead off to the Cripples…d'ya want to come?" He offered her a weak smile. "The gin's on me."

Nancy bit her lip. What wouldn't she give to be going to the Cripples with Bill instead of going there to…

She shook her head; she didn't want to think about that…not now…

"You can't?" Bill said, mis-interpreting her gesture, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. Nancy had never said no to one of these proposals before…

"N-no…" Nancy said, her eyes darting from Fagin (who was watching the conversation) to Bill and back again. "I…I'm meeting someone…"

"Oh…tha's alright then…" Bill tried to shrug it off; he was disappointed that Nancy couldn't come, but she surely had other plans…he wouldn't want her life to revolve around him, surely. That would be selfish and, true Bill wasn't the nicest man in Spitalfields, but he didn't consider himself a selfish one.

"I-I'm sorry Bill…truly…I'd love to but-"

"Honestly Nance, its fine." Bill offered her another smile, which his younger friend duly returned. She wanted to tell him everything, have him comfort her…and at the same time she felt so overwhelmed with guilt, so ashamed of what she'd been forced to become…she didn't want him to know…

"Well…I'll see ya later Nance, yeah?"

With that, Bill turned to leave, calling out to Fagin to remind him of his wages as he let the door slam. Little did the housebreaker know just how soon 'later' would turn out to be…

--

Three quarters of an hour later Bill found himself seated at his usual table, his usual large mug of spirit before him. The Cripples was busy tonight, crowded with an eclectic mix of thieves and villains, paupers and beggars.

All as usual.

As the housebreaker raised his sixth mug of gin to his lips, a figure caught his eye. He may have been a little unsteady due to his consumption of spirit, but there was no mistaking that tattered dress, those copper coloured locks…

Nancy had said she was meeting someone…but she'd neglected to tell Bill she'd be meeting the person here, at the Cripples of all places! Intrigued, he continued to watch her as she sallied over to the bar and fetched herself a glass of gin…the way she walked, the way she tossed her hair and smiled her dazzling smile…she was truly captivating.

His tranquil state was soon broken, however, as he noticed a man, one of the usual card playing crowd, approach and put his arm around her, whispering something in her ear. Nancy smiled and laughed, allowing the man to lead her from the bar and towards the tavern door.

Bill got to his feet, all semblances of calm and peacefulness gone. Who was that man to even think of approaching Nancy like that? He wasn't naïve, he'd seen these sorts of situations many a time in this tavern alone…but it couldn't be…this was _Nancy_; she picked pockets for a living! Not to mention she would never stoop this low, it would never cross her mind…what was going on?

Having pushed his way through the crowd, he finally came up behind Nancy and her companion, the latter of whom he grabbed by the scruff of the neck and attempted to pull away from the former. The man let go of Nancy with an exclamation of surprise and pain; Nancy turned to see Bill and her mouth fell open in shock…why had Fagin made her come here tonight, if he knew Bill was going to be there? Did he _want_ him to know just how low she'd sunk?

"Wot the bleedin' 'ell d'you think you're doin', eh?" Bill snarled, shaking the terrified man like a dog.

The man attempted to stammer a reply, his voice barely audible over the cheers and screams of the people crushed around them. His eyes were wide, his lip trembling; he and everyone else in the vicinity knew Bill Sykes and his reputation; clearly he had crossed him, albeit unknowingly.

"Bill, please!" Nancy cried, laying a restraining hand on Bill's free arm. "Let 'im go, 'e ain't done anythin' wrong!"

Bill rounded on Nancy now; what did she mean, he hadn't done anything wrong? Was she blind to the hungry look in his eyes, the drunken twisted sneer on his face? Was she indifferent to his arm around her shoulders?

"Wot the 'ell do you mean?" he snarled, unable to help the fury and frustration in his voice.

Nancy quailed; she couldn't recall seeing Bill this angry unless he was yelling at Fagin…but this was different…but at the same time it wasn't…this was all Fagin's fault…

"I…I can explain, Bill…"

Bill abruptly let go of Nancy's former companion; the man hurried away into the throng without a last look back, clutching his neck and attempting to regain the use of his vocal chords. The housebreaker took Nancy by the arm, as gently as he could in his current temper, and steered her outside, Bulls-Eye yapping at his heels.

"Explain."

Nancy looked up at Bill, eyes brimming with unshed tears. She hated to tell him, to admit all of this…but she had to…

"I…'aven't been earnin' my keep…pickin' pockets…" she said, her voice hoarse and constricted with suppressed sobs, barely more than a whisper. "An' I 'ave to earn my keep some'ow…it's either tha' or the streets…"

"Don't tell me you _chose_ to do what I think yer doin'!" Bill cried, his hands curling into fists. This was impossible…

"Of course not!" Nancy snapped, equally furious. "Gawd Bill, wot d'you take me for?"

A pause.

"I'm sorry…" she said, brushing tears from her eyes furiously away with a trembling hand.

Bill wasn't sorry. He had put two and two together. This all led back to Fagin, as all bad events inevitably seemed to do.

"When I get my 'ands on 'im…"

"Bill!" cried Nancy again, grabbing him by the arm in an attempt to prevent him running off and murdering the old man in his bed. "I can't deny that I hate wot I 'ave to do but…it's a livin', ain't it? Just like you go 'ouse-breakin', yeah?"

She smiled up at him, trying to calm him down and make him see sense. She was being somewhat hypocritical, she'd wanted to kill Fagin when he'd told her of her 'new job', but she hated that Bill felt this way…she didn't want him to feel pity for her, or anger at Fagin on her behalf…it only made the whole ordeal worse…

Bill turned to face her again, his fierce scowl all the more pronounced in the weak moonlight glinting through the clouds. How could Fagin have done this to Nancy…how could Nancy even discuss the matter with him in such a casual way?

"Some livin'," he spat vehemently. "Some livin'!"

--

**A/N:** Sorry it's been so long since an update; here's hoping this chapter was worth the wait! ^^

Poor Nancy, poor Bill…poor Fagin when Bill finally gets to him! XD

Please R&R!

By the way, Katarina Sparrow my dear, your 'Nancy' story has been invaluable in writing this chapter. Thank you. =)


	32. Together

Chapter Thirty-One – Together

In the nights following Bill's unexpected discovery of Nancy's new line of business, the housebreaker hardly said a word to Fagin when he visited, and what little he did say to him was always harsh and unfeeling. Fagin didn't question this, he knew he deserved it. Nancy hated how Bill was treating Fagin and attempted to reprimand him as such, but Bill would have none of it.

He was shocked at how eager Nancy was to defend Fagin, the old wretch that had driven her to the cold dark streets to earn her keep. What she was forced to do was as bad as him risking his neck every time he cracked a crib.

One week after their fateful meeting had transpired, Bill 'persuaded' Fagin to give Nancy the night off. The pair of them, Bill and Nancy, went to the Cripples as they used to, arm in arm, Bulls-Eye tagging along behind them.

Fagin watched them go from his seat near the fire, continuing to stare after them even when Bill had slammed the door upon departure.

He didn't notice the Artful Dodger standing beside him, watching as well, a look of immense distaste on his young features. Bill and Nancy…together…that didn't sit right with him, that didn't.

--

The tavern was crowded as ever tonight, filled with chatter, laughter and bursts of drunken song. Bill and Nancy acquired their usual table and got their gin; the girl that brought it was one of Nancy's new associates, heavily made up as always when working. Nancy gave her a small smile, which the girl duly returned before sauntering off again in the direction of a group of men idling at the bar.

Turning back to Bill, Nancy smiled at him too, a bigger smile, a brighter smile. She was so pleased to be here with him again, just like the good old days, before her new job. Just being around Bill made her smile, smile all genuine like. When she was with him she didn't have to wear a mask like she did with everyone else.

Little did she know it, but Bill felt the same way she did. He was always acting tough, living up to his reputation as a hardened criminal. It wasn't as if he really was a caring person inside, he certainly wasn't that. It was just…when he was around Nancy, what little kindness and compassion he had made themselves known. As pleasant as this could be, reliving himself from his usual demeanor, it was also unsettling.

It worried him how Nancy could make him feel so strange, so different. He wasn't his usual self around her; he was very different…he smiled, he laughed, and he even cracked jokes, on occasion.

He hoped these new, unusual emotions would wear off as time wore on.

There was silence between them for a few minutes, but they both seemed content with it, simply enjoying being in each other's company. Nancy took a small sip of gin, her smile still playing about her features. Was it her imagination, or was Bill smiling too? He hardly ever smiled as a rule, and yet there he sat, a small grin on his face.

"Wot you thinkin' of Bill?" she asked curiously, setting her mug down again. What was making him smile so?

"Nothin'," Bill replied, a little too quickly.

"Bill," Nancy said with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "You're smilin'! Somethin' must be makin' you smile like tha'."

Bill chuckled. If only she knew. It wasn't some_thing_, it was some_one_. Namely her.

"Nance?" Bill asked, after a moment's silence. "This is gonna sound strange but…do you ever feel…outcast, sorta?"

Nancy's smile faded a little at the question. She felt that way often, especially recently. The wide world seemed to frown on her and those like her, not that she blamed them. But she hated their sneers all the same.

"Y-Yes," she stammered, wondering what Bill could be getting at.

"Do you feel tha' way around the gang?" Bill asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it. Nancy felt the same way he had during his last days at Fagin's; he hated that she felt this way, but then it only helped his case. He wanted to help Nancy, help her escape.

Nancy nodded.

"Yeah…I do. How…how did you know?"

"I felt the same way."

Nancy gave a small start of surprise. It all made sense why he'd left now; not just because of Dodger, but because he felt apart from the gang, as if he no longer belonged. But…what did this have to do with her? What did it matter if she felt the same way?

"Nance," Bill said, his dark eyes boring into hers, a soft smile gracing his features. "Wot I wos thinkin' wos…would you like to come an' live wiv me?"

He had to do something to rescue her from Fagin's clutches, from this miserable life. If she came to live with him, she would no longer be one of Fagin's pawns, as the boys were, as he once had been. She would be free to live her life, with him, Bill Sykes, by her side.

Nancy gasped, her eyes sparkling. He wanted her to come and live with him? Did this mean…could it possibly mean…he wanted to help her? He _loved_ her? She loved him, she was sure of it, with every fibre of her being. Was it possible that he felt the same way?

"Yes," she said, her voice tremulous with emotion, her eyes swimming with unshed tears of joy. "A million times yes!" She practically leapt across the table to engulf him in a hug, relishing the feeling of his strong arms around her, keeping her safe and protecting her from harm.

Bill didn't think his smile could grow any wider.

She'd said yes.

"Bill?" Nancy said, looking up at him with bright, twinkling eyes, an expression of such happiness she never thought she could wear again affixed to her face. "D'you…d'you love me?"

Without pausing to think, Bill leant down and firmly planted a kiss on Nancy's lips.

Nancy felt as if she would explode with the ecstasy that consumed her; this must mean, surely, that he loved her.

_He_ loved her.

He _loved_ her.

He loved _her_.

When Bill broke the kiss, his smile still in place, it was to find Nancy sobbing in his lap.

"N-Nance?" he said worriedly, his expression changing in an instant. "Are you alright?"

"I've…never b-been more alright in my l-life…" Nancy said through her tears. Tears of joy. She leaned closer to Bill, resting her head on his shoulder, crying and laughing hysterically at the same time. She had never been this happy in her entire life, she was sure of it.

As for Bill, he was sure he loved her; how could he not? Even when he'd first met her in the alleyway, when she'd reprimanded him for attacking the helpless toff…he'd been drawn to her, he'd been captivated by her…

And she loved him back. He could scarcely believe it. All these years he'd been thinking she'd never see him as anything more than a good friend, all this time he'd thought she could never feel the same way… He'd thought he was no good for her, and yet…she loved him.

_She_ loved him.

She _loved_ him.

She loved _him_.

Bill got to his feet, Nancy let go of him but still stood by his side. He smiled fondly down at her before wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"C'mon Nance," he said, pulling her closer to him. "Let's get out of 'ere."

--

**A/N:** Can you say fluff? I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. XD

Sorry it's taken so long! D:

Please R&R!


	33. Fear At The Flat

Chapter Thirty-Two – Fear At The Flat

As sunlight filtered through the grime smeared window of the Bethnal Green flat, Bill Sykes stirred, slowly rousing himself from his unusually peaceful sleep. Rolling over in bed to try and stop the light infiltrating his tired eyes further, his gaze happened to rest on the breakfast table, painstakingly set and Nancy, standing at the stove, humming happily to herself as she worked.

Bill heaved himself from the bed and made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist before she could turn. Nancy seemed a little startled, but she smiled all the same and she moved herself to face him.

"Morning Bill," she said softly, smiling all the more as Bill pulled her into a warm embrace, softly stroking her copper coloured hair. He still couldn't believe that she was here with him, that she felt the same way all along…

"Morning, my girl," he replied, gently kissing the top of her head.

After a moment or two, where the pair of them simply stood in each other's arms, lost in their own thoughts, Nancy was forced to return her attention to the food on the stove. Bill laughed good naturedly at her worry; naturally she had wanted the food to be perfect. Nancy luckily saw the funny side, and soon the pair of them were laughing together over a hearty breakfast. Nancy was an excellent cook; just one of the many skills she had learnt at the Cripples. Bill gave his heartfelt compliments to the chef, causing Nancy to blush violently.

"Gawd Bill, it's just bacon an' eggs!" she cried, pleased.

"Better than anything Fagin can cook at any rate," Bill quipped back, and the pair of them reveled in another laugh.

They were both so deliriously happy, so full of laughter, so content. Bill wouldn't have thought it possible he could ever feel so strongly like this, nor would Nancy.

That's what love did to them.

Or what it seemed to do.

"Speakin' of Fagin," Bill said, once his laughter had subsided. "I need to head over there after breakfast if that's alright, Nance. He owes me cash, and lots of it." The housebreaker took a large gulp of gin as if to drive home his point; he and Nancy would need money if he insisted on drinking as much as he did.

"Fagin always owes you cash," Nancy said with a laugh, getting to her feet and beginning to clear away the breakfast things. "Would you mind if I came with you?"

"Not at all," Bill replied, downing the rest of his gin and wiping his mouth. "Ya didn't need to ask Nance, course you can come wiv me. You're my girl, ain'cha?"

Nancy grinned and hurried to Bill's side; Bill scooped up her shawl from where it hung at the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, before doing the same with his arm. Nancy snuggled closer to him, feeling safe and secure, her joyous smile never leaving her face for a moment.

_My girl…_

She was his.

--

When Bill and Nancy arrived at the flat that morning, it was to find all the boys gathered around the table, clamouring for food. Fagin looked frazzled and not in the best of moods; clearly the boys were getting on his nerves this morning.

"_For Gawd's sake_!" Fagin screeched after a moment of two of Bill and Nancy's watching the proceedings. "_Shut up, sit down and eat the blasted food_!" Grumbling to himself he turned away as if to return to his alcove, only to spot the pair standing in the doorway.

It only took a split second for Bill to remove his arm from Nancy's shoulders and return to his usual ferocious demeanor, but by then it was too late.

Fagin had noticed.

Bill and Nancy…together…he'd been wondering why she hadn't come back last night, as had the rest of the gang. Dodger had been worried sick, fearful that Nancy could have gotten hurt or worse.

Or worse. This was worse.

Bill and Nancy…together…it made sense, ultimately, and Fagin hated it.

Then again, sense was something the old 'un was frequently said to be without.

Bill, blunt as ever, got straight to the point.

"Where's my cash Fagin? I've given you time enough!"

The old man blanched, his whole frustrated demeanor vanishing instantly as he cowered before his old protégé. Bill had given him time, certainly, but he himself hadn't had the time. He was already under considerable pressure from one of his other acquaintances down at the Cripples…he didn't need this right now…

Bill noticed Fagin's lack of forthcoming and took a step towards him, his hands curling into fists.

"I said, where's my cash Fagin?" he repeated, his voice low and menacing. Behind him Nancy was looking fearful, not just for Fagin but because of Bill. She hated seeing him so angry when just moments ago he'd been laughing.

Fagin took a step backwards, his eyes wide. Seconds later, who should be standing in front of him but The Artful Dodger himself, trying to appear tough.

"Leave 'im alone, will ya?" he snapped, trying hard to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Fagin, Nancy and the rest of the gang stared at Dodger, a few of the boy's mouths hanging open. What was he doing, how could he be so stupid as to defy Bill Sykes, _the_ Bill Sykes, whom he'd admired and praised ever since his arrival?

"Get out of it Dodger," hissed Fagin frantically, flapping his hands wildly as if to chivvy Dodger along. "Don't be stupid…don't dare…"

"Outta my way, Dodger," growled Bill. "This ain't your problem." Looking over the incensed boy's head, he continued to glower at Fagin. "I ain't gonna ask yer again, you old fence. Where is it? Tell me or I'll beat the information out of yer!"

"Bill!" cried Nancy, dashing forwards and laying a restraining hand on his arm. "Let 'im be! Leave 'im alone! 'Im an' Dodger!"

Bill still appeared angry as he turned to face Nancy, the girl with whom he had been laughing and smiling only minutes before. He pulled his arm from her grip, but made no further advances towards Fagin. Nancy gave him a weak smile, hoping to smooth things over; Bill continued to scowl.

Nancy had put him in his place.

He couldn't help remembering the first time they'd met, if only for a brief instant; she'd defied him then, and she had defied him now.

He couldn't let that happen again.

He wouldn't.

"Just because you're livin' wiv me don't mean you can back answer me, my girl," he said, his voice soft and yet menacing at the same time, the sort of fear inducing voice that is hard to ignore.

The whole flat had heard him.

Charley Bates was the first to break the awkward, tension filled silence; dropping his gin mug with a great clatter, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"You…you're living with Bill now, my dear?" Fagin asked hoarsely, although he knew the answer.

"Do you 'ave a problem wiv tha'?" growled Bill, before Nancy could open her mouth.

Fagin shook his head.

"No, no, not at all, no problem…" he mumbled, wringing his hands behind his back.

"Glad to hear it," the housebreaker replied. "I want that cash by this evening Fagin, an' no later. I'll be at the Cripples."

With that, Bill turned on his heel and headed for the door, standing in the frame as he'd opened it, waiting for Nancy to join him. She was about to do so, but Fagin verbally held her back, his voice no more than an anxious whisper.

"Are you sure about this, my dear? Bill is a violent man, my dear, a very violent man…I just want you to be safe and-"

"Are you trying to say tha' stayin' wiv Bill ain't as safe as actin' a strumpet down at the Cripples?" Nancy hissed back, her voice pure acid. "Bill ain't the monster everyone paints 'im as Fagin. You of all people should know tha'."

With those cheerful parting words, Nancy hurried to Bill's side once again, without another glance over her shoulder. As the door slammed shut, Dodger looked up at Fagin, a strange mixture of fear and grief on his young face.

Fagin could do nothing except give his young ward a weak smile.

--

As the clock chimed seven, Fagin was making his way to the Cripples. Ordinarily he was harried looking where Bill and his cash were concerned, but this was a different matter entirely.

He found Bill at his usual table with Nancy beside him, her arm round his waist as she huddled close to him, a slightly tipsy smile playing about her lips.

"Wot you lookin' so scared of Fagin?" Bill said, taking a slug of drink. "I ain't gonna kill yer or nothin', honest!"

Fagin didn't find Bill's rare good (if slightly drunk) humor funny. This was serious.

"Bill…Ezra's gone missing."

--

**A/N:** That was an interesting chapter, wasn't it? XD I couldn't have done it without Katarina Sparrow; how many times can I thank you, my dear? :3

Sorry for the recent lack of updates; have faith, my dears, more chapters shall come soon!

Please R&R!


	34. Temper

Chapter Thirty-Three – Temper

Bill didn't appear as worried about the young man as Fagin was, if anything he became even calmer, leaning back in his chair and heaving a contented sigh.

"Bill, didn't you hear me?" hissed Fagin, furious despite the reprimand he was sure to receive for losing his temper with the housebreaker.

"Yeah Fagin; I 'eard ya."

There was a moment's silence.

"He went out on the job as usual this morning…he hasn't been back since…it's not like him to wander off…he had the owl with him, I don't know if that's significant or not but…" Fagin tailed off, staring in disbelief at Bill as his young acquaintance took another gulp of gin, without a care in the world.

"W-Well?"

"Wot d'you expect me to do about it Fagin, eh?"

"I-I don't k-know Bill…what if…what if he's been caught…what if he blows on us all? And if not that, then where is he? What's happened to him?"

"Y'think I know?"

Bill raised his eyebrows and took another languid sip from his mug of gin, irritated that Fagin was bothering him with this information. He and Ezra had never been particularly close, not like him and Jeremy; he hardly knew a thing about him! Why had Fagin come appealing to him for help?

"You know this city better than any of my acquaintance, my dear…I was wondering if-"

"I could search the whole bleedin' city to try an' find 'im? Wot d'you take me for Fagin? I've got better things to do then comb the city for one of your lost brats!"

If Bill had been slightly less intoxicated he probably would have cared more, been more worried, more ready to help. As it was, both he and Nancy had drank a bit too much that evening; making Bill more quick to anger and Nancy half asleep on his shoulder.

"Bill…there's money in it!" Fagin said desperately. He couldn't find Ezra alone, who knew what had happened? He needed Bill to help him, and if bribing him with money was the only way then so be it. Although it was hard for Fagin to part with his cash, especially now, he had to if he wanted to find the young man and stop him from peaching…

"'Ow much?" growled Bill, leaning forward in his chair a little, causing Nancy to stir and mumble something unintelligible in her drowsy state.

"A pound, my dear. One whole pound." Fagin held up the coin to the light, and Bill's eyes shone along with it.

"You got yourself a deal Fagin," he said, plucking the coin from the old man's fingers before he could protest. "I'll bring Nance to kip at your place for the night; she won't make it back to Bethnal Green like tha', 'specially not wivout me."

"Of course, my dear, of course," Fagin replied, with a small smile.

Bill heaved himself to his feet, pulling Nancy to hers as he did so. Nancy muttered something about gin toddies, causing Bill to smile, if only for a fraction of a second. A girl after his own heart.

When the threesome arrived at Fagin's it was to find most of the boys asleep. Charley Bates and The Artful Dodger, however, were still up, along with Archie, playing a melancholy game of cards, their expressions ashen.

"Time for bed, my dears…" Fagin said softly.

Dodger looked up at Bill and Nancy; Bill had ended up half-carrying, half dragging her to Fagin's, yet she still looked content and peaceful in his arms. It made Dodger feel sick; the tranquil expression on her face next to Bill's ill-temperate countenance.

Fagin noticed Dodger's expression and hastily informed him of all that was happening; Bill was going to look for Ezra but Nancy was going to stay at the den for the night. Dodger expressed his bitter incredulity, if only inside his own head, that Nancy could bear to be away from Bill for so long.

"Nance, you'll be alright here, yeah?" Bill whispered to her as he tucked her up in one of the old makeshift beds. "'S just for one night…"

Nancy nodded wearily, managing a small smile as she at last succumbed to sleep. Bill gave her a gentle parting kiss before straightening up and heading for the door, grateful that Fagin and Dodger had been engaged in discussion and hadn't seen his moment of tenderness.

"Make sure she comes back in the mornin', eh Fagin?" Bill called as he departed, closing the door just in time to see Fagin nod.

Nancy awoke from a fitful sleep only a few minutes later, only to see Dodger perched beside her, his expression anxious.

"Hey there Dodge," she said in a somewhat slurred voice, sitting up slightly to give him a peck on the cheek. "You alrigh'?"

Dodger turned as red as Nancy's dress, barely managing to stammer out a reply.

"Y-Yeah…I'm alrigh'…"

--

The steeple clock had just gone three and Bill had found no sign of Ezra. He found the whole situation unusual; the young man was so often off in his own world, what sort of trouble could he possibly have gotten into? It wasn't like him to disappear, or even run off for half an hour to be by himself. Where could he be? Bill had tried all the usual places; the deserted marketplace, the streets close to Fagin's, the upper class shopping streets, even the animal menagerie Ezra was fond of visiting, all closed up for the night.

He wasn't anywhere to be found.

Bill thought about giving up; where else could he look? But then, he thought, he hadn't tried the police station. He knew it was risky, what with his occupation and his current intoxicated state, but what else could he do?

"Can I help you sir?" said the policeman at the desk, looking up from his book with tired grey eyes.

"You wouldn't 'appen to 'ave 'ad a lad in 'ere…'bout twenty two, scruffy blonde hair, expression on 'is face like 'e's away wiv the fairies?"

The man at the desk looked startled. "No…we haven't had anyone at all like that here…"

Just then a junior officer hurried in, his face pallid, his eyes wide.

"Sir…there was a young man on London Bridge…I don't know if he was pushed, or he fell or he jumped…the river police got the body just after he hit the water but they were seconds too late…"

The officer on duty turned a sickly green.

"He…he dropped this…"

The junior policeman extracted an object from his greatcoat pocket; a sorry looking, limp, tattered something.

Ezra's stuffed owl.

--

"Oh Gawd…" Nancy groaned, struggling into a sitting position, clutching her throbbing head. "Wot did I 'ave to drink last night?"

"A lot of gin, my dear," Fagin said sternly, but with a small smile.

"You can say tha' again Fagin," Nancy moaned, burrowing under the thin blanket she'd been provided with the previous night, scolding herself furiously under her breath. After a few moments she re-emerged, wincing as she extracted herself from the blanket and got to her feet. "Did you 'ear anythin' from Bill?"

"I haven't seen him yet, my dear," Fagin said, his tone anxious. "But he'll be fine…he always is."

Nancy nodded and grabbed her shawl.

"I'd better get back to 'im…"

"Don't you want a bite to eat first my d-"

Before Fagin could finish posing his inquiry the door had shut behind Nancy, as the young girl hurried back to Bethnal Green.

Fagin shook his head sadly and returned to the breakfast table, all the while wondering if Bill had found anything, any leads as to where Ezra had gone, a clue…or even the man himself? Fagin only dared to hope.

--

"Bill?" Nancy called as she pushed open the door to the flat. "Bill, are you here?" The bed was empty and unmade, the breakfast table littered with empty bottles. Clearly Bill had been drinking…but hadn't he been looking for Ezra? Where was he?

"_Where the bleedin' 'ell 'ave you been_?"

Nancy found herself pinned against the wall, Bill's large hand gripping her throat. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his breath reeked of gin, he looked as if he hadn't gotten a minute's sleep…his disheveled appearance was almost as terrifying as his booming voice.

"I…I was…" Nancy stammered, her voice constricted with the pressure Bill had on her throat. "I wos at Fagin's…you left me there last night, remember?"

"_Don't lie to me_!" Bill roared. "_Who you been seein', who you been wiv all night, eh_?"

"I told you, I was at Fagin's place!" Nancy cried. "You…you went off to find Ezra an' you left me there!"

Bill tightened his grip on Nancy's throat, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Bill, I swear that's where I wos; don't you remember? Bill…stop, please stop, you're hurting me! Please…stop!"

Nancy reached out a trembling hand to try and prize Bill off her; Bill released her only to deal her a sharp slap across the face, causing her to crumple to the ground, her breath coming in short ragged gasps, her head pounding. If she thought she'd been in pain before, this was a thousand times worse.

"_I thought you'd left me…I thought you'd gone an' left me; found some new fancy man to take you in!_"

"I would never do tha'!" Nancy protested, biting back tears. "You're Bill, my Bill…an' I'm your girl, ain't I?"

Bill was not appeased, even as he saw Nancy huddled on the floor, her thin frame wracked with silent sobs, tears of pain and terror sliding mercilessly down her cheeks. Did he realize what he was saying, what he had done? Even he didn't know.

"If you ever cross me Nance," he growled, his voice the most menacing the terrified girl had ever heard it. "If you ever do anythin' to betray me…anythin'…I swear…_I'll kill ya_."

--

**A/N:** Character death, violence, drama…

This was a fun chapter to write, I can tell you. Should it have been though? Do I love torturing characters; am I really that cruel? D:

Please R&R!


	35. He's Not To Blame

Chapter Thirty-Four – He's Not To Blame

That morning at Bethnal Green couldn't have been more different from the one previous. Bill lay asleep even as the clock struck eleven; after his tirade he had promptly staggered away to sleep it off. Nancy had made breakfast and eaten her share; now she sat at the table simply staring into space, lost in thought.

Her cheek still stung from the blow Bill had dealt her, it was sore to the touch. She guessed, even without a mirror present, that it was still inflamed. And yet, even though it hurt, even though Bill had hit her…she couldn't blame him.

She just couldn't.

He'd been drinking, that was the only reason he'd done it; he was delirious, out of his head! And maybe it wasn't just the drink…surely he must have found out something about Ezra…what had happened to the young man to make Bill react so?

But even though Nancy made her excuses; Bill wouldn't have done it deliberately, he couldn't, he loved her…despite it all, those last three words, spat in her face with such contempt and fury…they were hard to ignore, hard to forget.

_I'll kill ya._

"Nance?" Bill groaned, all his previous fury seemingly gone as he turned over in bed to face her, blearily blinking himself awake.

Nancy smiled, genuinely happy that Bill was awake (not to mention the fact that he didn't look mad enough to kill).

"'Ow are ya this mornin' Bill?" she asked gently, moving to kneel beside the bed.

Bill shook his head despondently. "I've been better…'ow much did I bleedin' drink?"

Nancy shrugged, recalling all too well the number of gin bottles she'd removed from the table earlier that morning.

"A lot," was her honest reply.

Bill sighed deeply and heaved himself into a sitting position, running a hand across his face to try and clear the sleep from it, Nancy watching him anxiously all the while.

It was only then that Bill noticed the red mark on her cheek; his expression quickly changing from fatigued to furious.

"Nance…wot 'appened, who did tha' to yer? If it wos one of those bleedin' drunkards down at the Cripples, I swear I'll-"

He stopped as he saw Nancy's eyes brimming with tears. Pounding headache forgotten, Bill got out of bed and knelt down at Nancy's level, as he had done all those years ago, and engulfed her in an embrace.

"Nance," he said, his voice softer, gentle, even. "Wot 'appened?"

Nancy couldn't tell him, she just couldn't…it didn't really hurt, it hadn't then, it hadn't now…she must have dreamt the whole thing…Bill didn't remember it…Bill would never do such a thing, he would never hit her, he loved her…

She sobbed harder, burying her face in his shirt. Bill was alarmed at this display of emotion, he wanted to know what had happened, but he simply continued to hold Nancy tightly as she cried, stroking her hair gently and trying to comfort her. Only when she'd wiped her eyes and regained a slight semblance of calm did he ask again.

"I'm sorry Nance but I 'ave to know wot 'appened….tell me who did this."

Nancy didn't want to tell him; why should she? But she couldn't lie to him, she just couldn't…

From the way she looked up at him, her eyes full of guilt, Bill realized exactly who was to blame…the thought made him feel like breaking down in tears himself, and he never cried.

"I…I did…" Bill gestured, horror struck, to the bright red mark, unable to do more. "But…I would never…what reason could I possibly 'ave 'ad to…"

Nancy shook her head; she couldn't possibly relay all those things he'd yelled at her…he'd been drunk, he'd had no idea what he was saying or what he'd done…he'd lost control….she only hoped it wouldn't happen again.

"Gawd Nance…" Bill moaned, eyes downcast, not daring to raise them, to see the horrid mark that he had dealt her by his own, brutal hand. "I'm so so sorry…I swear, this'll never happen again, I _swear_."

These words were said with the same ferocity of spirit as those early…he swore he would kill her, yet at the same time he swore beatings like that would never happen again. Nancy earnestly believed the latter; why should she believe what he'd yelled in a drunken rage?

Little did she know this decision would come back to haunt her.

--

It seemed, for all outward appearances, that Bill had completely forgotten all that he'd said and done since his return to Bethnal Green, as if it had all been completely wiped from his memory. But, the truth was, he hadn't forgotten. He was trying to, however, _trying_ to forget what she'd said, the blow he'd struck, denying it for all he was worth…he wasn't like that when he was around Nancy, he was a different man…how could he have done that, how could he have _hit_ her? He _loved_ her, didn't he?

And what on Earth had made him drink so much in the first place? What had driven him to such an extreme? He must have drank five full bottles, at least; enough to floor some of the Cripples' usual customers…

He certainly hadn't forgotten, or tried to forget, all he'd seen and heard at the police station.

At the time he'd contained his fury and his fear; Ezra wouldn't have jumped, what would have made him do such a thing? He must have fallen…or been pushed… Only when he'd returned home and been able to raid the gin cupboard did he let his emotions run rampant.

He'd felt sick, he'd felt scared out of his wits, he'd felt furious, as if he would explode with the anger that consumed him…what reason did Ezra; kind-hearted, loving Ezra, have to die? Although Bill hadn't known him well, as to his knowledge he'd never done a thing wrong in his life! He didn't deserve the fate he'd been dealt…and yet Bill had taken out his fury at the situation on _Nancy_?

Nancy, who was so like poor Ezra with her kindness and charm…what had possessed him to take out his anger on her?

He'd apologized profusely, over and over again, but Nancy hadn't seemed too upset…he saw through her façade however…she didn't want to hurt him further by showing how she truly felt. Bill hated that she was hiding her true feelings; he deserved to be punished for what he'd done, and at the same time, he was glad of it.

They should both try and forget it and go about things as normal.

They loved each other, and this was their life.

Simple.

--

Of course, Bill told Nancy what he'd discovered, and the pair of them went to tell Fagin. How could they not; it was what Bill had been paid for. He still had the pound coin in his waistcoat pocket; he intended to spend it all on something for Nancy as soon as he possibly could…he knew from experience that money didn't buy happiness, look at all those toffs in the houses he stole from, but he had to make it up to her somehow…

"Plummy an' slam!"

The door was opened as usual by the Artful Dodger; as he spotted Nancy he blushed a terrific shade of red and scurried away. After all that had happened earlier that morning, not to mention the amount of gin she'd drunk last night, Nancy couldn't remember the peck on the cheek she'd given the boy, and looked as confused as Bill did.

"Good to see you, my dears!" Fagin called, emerging from the kitchen alcove with a slice of toast in one hand, his hair more of a mess than usual as if he'd ran his fingers through it several hundred times.

"Why ain't this lot out of the job?" Bill asked, blunt as ever, indicating the boys who were all eyeing Fagin's toast with hungry looks.

Fagin shook his head, as if to indicate he didn't want to talk about it just then, before hurriedly procuring a tray of sandwiches from the alcove and setting it on the table for the boys. As his young wards fell upon the food, Fagin approached Bill and Nancy, a newspaper tucked under one arm.

"You don't need to say a word, my dear," Fagin said, seeing Bill's confused expression. "It's all here in the paper…I haven't told the lads yet…I don't know how they'd take it…"

The three of them glanced over at the boys, joking away and chatting together happily over their meal. It was almost unthinkable that their happiness should be intruded upon with the grisly news.

"I'm so sorry…" Nancy said gently, biting back tears once again as she looked at Fagin; he looked so scared, so unsure…there was only Bill left of his original gang, and he no longer resided at the den. Jeremy, Morris, Norman, Frankie, Ezra…they were all gone, gone for good.

"I'm fine, my dear, really I am…" Fagin replied, taking a solemn bite of his toast, for lack of anything else to do. "It's Archie I'm worried about, poor dear…he hasn't been the same since Ezra ran off…I can't help thinking he knows something about why this happened…"

Just as Fagin said, Archie seemed very detached from the rest of the group, eating his luncheon without the same vigour and enthusiasm, his eyes downcast.

"'Ave you tried talkin' to 'im?" asked Nancy, looking worriedly back at Fagin.

The old man shook his head. "I would've done, but…I don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does…I think he blames himself for Ezra's running off…"

"Why should 'e?" said Bill suddenly. He knew how Archie must feel; he'd felt the same way when Jeremy got shot. But Archie didn't know Ezra was dead…did he?

--

**A/N: **This is probably my last chapter before I head off to Scotland. I may get another one up today but it's a slim chance. I'm probably not allowed to take my laptop with me but we'll see. XD –plots-

Until we meet again, all the best, dear readers and reviewers!

R&R!


	36. A Lesson In Lies

Chapter Thirty-Five – A Lesson In Lies

Did Archie know Ezra was dead? And, if he did, how did he know? Fagin hadn't told them, the gang had yet to leave the flat (so he couldn't have heard the news on the street) and Bill was certain the young man had never read a newspaper in his life.

Then again, he might not know. It was only natural that he was worried and upset at his friend's disappearance, surely. But there was something about his expression, his stance, a look in his eye that said otherwise…

"Fagin," Bill said firmly; Fagin shrank away from him slightly as if on cue. "You need to talk to 'im. 'E don't look right."

"Of course not!" Fagin spluttered.

"That ain't wot I mean. 'E looks shifty, like 'e knows somethin' we don't…"

Fagin bit his lip. Did Bill mean what he thought he meant? But…no, that was impossible! Why on Earth would he…what reason could he have had to…

Before he could form the words to protest against Bill's ridiculous notion, Nancy cut in and did so herself.

"Wot d'you think your sayin' Bill?" she said, in an aghast whisper. "You can't possibly mean…'e wos 'ere when we came back from the Cripples, wosn't 'e? 'Ow could 'e 'ave-"

"It's easy enough to sneak out of 'ere if you got a key," said Bill, shooting a look at Fagin. "Or even if you don't. There's always someone on duty to shut the door after ya…"

Bill was right. When the gang had grown so big there was hardly enough space to accommodate them all, one lad had always had the job of sleeping near the door, which they could open and shut as they pleased; Fagin thought of this as an extra security measure while many of the boys thought him crazier than ever.

Sure enough, as the three of them glanced over towards the door, they spotted a crumpled blanket and a folded jacket, doubtless used as the boy's pillow. Glancing over at the boys once more Bill was quick to notice that Archie was the only one still in his shirtsleeves; the others had all donned waistcoats or jackets that morning.

"If 'e wos on door duty 'e could 'ave easily pretended to go to sleep then crept out afore I left. I never would've noticed…" Bill muttered.

"Bill, that's crazy," Nancy hissed unwisely. "Crazy! Ezra and Archie were the best of friends; what makes you suspect-"

"Be quiet Nance," Bill hissed, noticing Archie looking their way. He turned back to Fagin.

"If you ain't gonna talk to 'im, I will. 'E's got somethin' to do wiv this, I know 'e does."

Both Fagin and Nancy opened their mouths to protest but Bill had already left them and taken Archie aside from the others.

"Wot-" Archie began before Bill cut across him, trying to speak calmly but failing as rage crept, ever so slowly, into his voice.

"Wot 'appened last night?" Bill growled.

"Wot are you talkin' about?"

"You know perfectly well!" Bill spat. "Last night! London Bridge! Ezra! Tha' ringin' any bells in tha' thick skull of yours?"

To Fagin and Nancy's dismay, this outburst meant the other boys had turned to look; they had finished their lunch and therefore had nothing to distract them from watching the accusation progress.

Archie had gone white, his lip trembling slightly. Those few words rung bells alright, and plenty of them. But what did Bill have to do with this? How could he have known?

"Well?" snarled Bill. "You know wot 'appened to 'im, don't yer?"

Archie nodded weakly.

"Tell me then! I'll force it out of yer one way or the other!"

"Bill, please!" Nancy cried, hurrying over to him and clutching at his arm in an attempt to make him release Archie, but Bill shrugged her off, not lifted his gaze from the terrified man he was gripping by the collar, eyes blazing.

"Stay out of this Nance," he hissed dangerously.

Nancy, cowed by the fury in his voice, retreated backwards, not wanting to watch the scene but at the same time unable not to. What if Bill was right? What if…?

"Tell me," he repeated his voice lower and, if possible, more threatening. "Wot 'appened last night?"

All the boys leaned in visibly closer, intrigued by what Bill was saying. Fagin and Nancy copied them, through more subtly. The eyes of the entire gang were on Archie and Bill.

Seeming to realize that if he didn't speak Bill would beat him until he did, Archie tentatively opened his mouth to begin his tale.

"I-I left just before you did, to look for Ezra myself…" Archie said, trying to avoid looking at anybody watching him. "He was my best friend an' I was worried-"

"_Wos_?" interjected several members of the gang, but Dodger silenced them all with a meaningful look. Fagin was about to open his mouth and suggest Bill and Archie took their 'conversation' elsewhere as it wasn't something for the boys to hear, but Archie had begun speaking again, seemingly heedless of the awkward interruption.

"I looked in all 'is usual spots but I couldn't find 'im anywhere! I even went to the Cripples and asked if anyone 'ad seen 'im. They all said no of course, 'e'd never go somewhere like tha'. I kept walkin' wivout much 'ope when I spotted 'im; 'im an' 'is owl. I 'ad no idea wot the owl was doin' wiv 'im but I wos so glad to see 'im I started runnin' to get 'im. It wos dark…'e couldn't see it wos me…'e started runnin' too…I caught up wiv 'im at the bridge…"

Archie paused wringing his clammy hands. The tension filling the loft was thick enough to cut with a knife…what had happened then? How had this resulted in Ezra's untimely demise?

"But by then it wos too late…'e…'e'd jumped…"

"_Wot_?" cried Bill, and he wasn't the only one. The whole lot of them were in disbelief; Ezra would never have done such a thing, surely! He was the most kind-hearted, most gentle of them all! What reason would he have had to do such a thing?

"Please believe me!" Archie pleaded. "I ain't lyin'! As I wos standin' there a policeman came runnin' towards me; I hid but it turns out 'e wosn't after me…e'd seen Ezra fall…I 'eard voices down below on the water…it wos the river police…they…they recognized 'im…'He's the one tha' got 'imself out of trouble with Matthew's this afternoon,' one of 'em says. 'Accordin' to this 'un there's a whole lot of 'em down the Saffron Hill way…'"

Fagin was white as a ghost.

"You don't mean…" he said, in barely more than a whisper.

Archie nodded miserably.

There was a stunned silence, broken only by Archie speaking again, his voice shaking.

"'E must've done it an' jumped so us or the police'd never find 'im again…either tha' or 'e regretted wot 'e did an' there wos no goin' back…"

"Why would 'e though?" cried Dodger, his shock and fear evident even in his voice. "Why would 'e blow on us all, jus' like tha'? Wot could've possibly made 'im do tha'?"

Archie reached into the pocket of his tattered trousers and extracted a crumpled handful of notes, along with a small scrap of paper.

"'E wos bribed weren't 'e?" said Archie sadly. "Got caught on the job, wormed 'is way out of trouble by tellin' the traps on us, they praised 'im for it an' let 'im go, probably 'opin' they could use 'im to get us all in the clink some'ow, realized 'e couldn't live wiv 'imself…'e dropped this an' the owl before 'e…before 'e went…"

Much as Bill hated to admit it, it all made sense. That was why the officer on duty had said there'd been no-one like him at the station…he'd hadn't been there. He let go of Archie's collar, his own hands sticky with sweat.

Ezra had peached on them just to get himself out of trouble…this didn't seem like him…but it made sense…

-

The next morning when Bill arrived at the den (the boys still there, too fearful of going out on the job) to collect his overdue wages from his last housebreaking, he saw neither hide nor hair of Archie. The boys duly informed him they hadn't seen the young man since the previous day, nor had Fagin. He'd simply vanished.

Upon further inspection of the scene, Bill found the crumpled pound notes on Archie's pillow, as well as the scrap of paper he'd been so desperate to hide. Bill had difficulty deciphering the untidy, wobbly scrawl, but even more difficulty coming to terms with the words…

"_It wos all a lie. I'm the one that got caught an' did evrythin' else. Ezra 'ad the owl wiv 'im at first but I 'borrowed' it to use as evidence against 'im…I 'ad to blame someone else…I couldn't live wiv wot I did…I lured 'im to the bridge after I found 'im wanderin' alone, got rid of 'im so 'e wouldn't blab…'e kept sayin' if 'e'd been caught 'e'd 'ave gone to jail or faced the drop rather than told but I didn't listen…'e said you don't tell on friends, you keep their secrets. But I didn't. I regret wot I did now, but there's no goin' back. I've left London to try an' leave the past behind._

_I'm truly sorry for wot I did an' hope tha' in time you'll forgive me._

_Thank you all for your kindness an' friendship, 'specially Mister Fagin. I will always remember it."_

--

**A/N:** It's been far too long since I worked on this story and am delighted to be back. A nice long chapter, so I hope we're even. XD A bit of a shocker there, eh? I do love my (hopefully un-cliched) dramatic moments.

Please R&R!


	37. New Normality

Chapter Thirty-Six – New Normality

It had been a fortnight since Archie had left the gang. Fagin was distraught, the boys sombre. Bill was as cut up by Ezra's death and Archie's lies as if Jeremy had been killed all over again. As was usual with him he kept his emotions to himself, subsequently blowing his top at the slightest little thing.

Nancy knew to steer clear of him when he was in a foul mood, but it was so hard to tell these days. He could be so kind and gentle towards her one moment, the next he could be berating her for something, whether it was the fire that had blown itself out, or the lack of gin bottles in the cupboard. The poor young woman was terrified out of her wits on these occasions, but as soon as she rectified whatever the problem was, Bill would become calm again…as calm as he could be.

Bill had gone on a number of housebreaking jobs since Archie had left London. The job was hard enough without Jeremy by his side, but now someone else was making him weak, distracting him, making the job more difficult than ever.

Nancy.

He couldn't get her face out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It was as if she was part of him, always there beside him, no matter where he went or what he did. It was just like those weeks ago (had it only been weeks) when he'd first suggested she come and live with him. He'd felt so different, free of his usual ferocity…and yet, as these visions of the beautiful young woman invaded his mind with alarming frequency, he came to realize that not only did she make him feel free…she made him feel vulnerable. Weak.

And he hated it. He hated being made to feel weak, powerless, inferior. Although she did not know it (how could she?) Nancy had a strange power, and influence over him. She loved him, and Bill knew she did…but was he, Bill Sykes, truly capable of feeling the way Nancy did? It was just like when he'd ran away from Fagin's at the first sign of an adversary; he'd thought Nancy wouldn't care, he'd thought he'd never be good enough for her…but she _loved_ him.

Did he…_could_ he…love her in return?

It was these thoughts and more that worried Sykes as he filched jewelry boxes, snatched up silk gloves and looted his weight in silver. Much as he protested that he did, after all he'd been through, deserve to have Nancy by his side, there was a part of him that said otherwise.

Often, having successfully scaled the garden fence of the night's house, he came to realize he had little to show for his efforts, so pre-occupied had he been with his thoughts and fears. On these occasions he would berate himself for his stupidity, often out loud, so that those whom he passed in the street on his way back to the flat regarded him as either drunk or mad.

As much as he blamed himself for these incidents, he couldn't help himself but to blame Nancy too. She, of course, didn't know the true reason for his fury, the real reason why he couldn't control his emotions around her. She accepted his tirades without question, knowing that Bill had difficult times on the job and assuming he needed to vent his frustrations.

But the young man didn't just stop at shouting anymore. Fagin had warned her how violent a man Bill had become, and Nancy had foolishly shrugged off his warning; she loved Bill and that was all that mattered. She would deal with whatever came her way, so long as she was with him. Little had she realized what this would mean.

-

The night's housebreaking couldn't be called a success. Instead of the wealthy bulk of items cleverly stashed about his person there was a weighty bulk of anxiety preying on Bill's mind. His pockets were much lighter than usual but he found he hardly noticed, so distracted was he by his thoughts of Nancy. Her soft coppery hair, her kind, caring smile and her eyes…her _eyes_…

"Wot the 'ell is wrong with me?" he moaned aloud, wincing slightly as the sun emerged over the grimy rooftops, stinging his tired, bloodshot eyes.

Bulls-Eye, barely recognizable as the puppy he once had been due to the scars, bruises and dirt adorning his fur, looked up at his master, with as quizzical a look as a dog could muster.

"Stop lookin' at me like tha' you mangy brute!" snapped Bill, dealing the dog a swift kick before continuing his musings as he walked. "Oh Gawd, 'ere I am talkin' to a bleedin' _dog_…"

When he barged into the flat it was to find Nancy waiting for him, her blue eyes anxious. She'd set the table for breakfast but Bill barely noticed as he closed the door behind him and shrugged off his coat.

"'Ow did it go, Bill?" Nancy asked a little tentatively, bending down to scratch Bulls-Eye behind the ears (the dog had lumbered over to her as fast as his stocky legs could carry him for fear of being too close to Bill).

"'Ow did it go?" Bill repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "_'Ow did it go_?"

He whipped around, dropping his coat with a clatter and stalked towards Nancy but the girl, though terrified, stayed where she was, simply staring back at him with those captivating eyes of hers…

In an instant Bill had seized her, digging his nails into her shoulders, his face livid.

"Bill!" Nancy cried, alarmed. "Bill, wot've I done?"

"You know!" Bill yelled, gripping her even harder than before so that Nancy gasped with pain. "You know wot yer doin'! You're drivin' me mad, woman, mad!"

Nancy continued to look up at Bill, a mixture of confusion and terror in her eyes. What was he talking about? Was he drunk? Had he been down at the Cripples after the night's raid?

It was only then she realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that Bill wasn't shouting in a drunken rage. He was truly furious, he knew what he was doing, he was in control, he was fully aware of his actions…

No sooner had Nancy thought this when she felt herself being pushed roughly to the ground. Still unaware of why Bill was acting this way towards her and unaware of what she was supposed to have done, Nancy defiantly tried to get back onto her feet only to feel Bill's hand connect sharply with her cheek. She crumpled, biting back tears as she stared up at the violent young man she knew she loved.

"I…I'm sorry B-Bill…" she whispered hoarsely, not daring to even move a hand to her face for fear of another blow.

"Don't lie to me," Bill snarled, turning away from her and stalking over to their shared bed, already anticipating the dreams to come, dreams of tears, pleading…regret.

--

**A/N: **Here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter; sad and violent as it turned out to be. I promise more of Fagin and the rest of the gang in the next chapter. ^^

Please R&R!


	38. A Struggle & A Visitor

Chapter Thirty-Seven – A Struggle & A Visitor

"_Wot did ya do tha' for?"_

"_I'm sorry Mister Fagin got mad at ya…"_

"_I 'eard you two are off 'ouse-breakin'!"_

"_Bill…get out of 'ere…take the b***** dog an' run!"_

"'_S too late Bill…"_

"_Bill what…oh…oh gawd…oh __gawd__…"_

"_It's not weak to cry, my dear…"_

"_We're friends now, ain't we? True friends? Forever?"_

"_You thought there'd be no blood on your 'ands…You as good as pulled the trigger."_

It was the old nightmare, a nightmare that had long since faded but was now back with all its full-blown ferocity, not to mention the addition of Nancy into the bargain. The dream was bad enough with the gunshot, blood and screams, but now there was guilt interlaced there too. Nancy and he had been friends, and now they were even more than that…but things had been different then…things had changed…he wasn't the same man…

"_You're Bill Sykes? __The__ Bill Sykes?"_

He used to be admired and looked up to as a shining example; by Fagin, Jeremy, Norman and Frankie, even Morris on occasion. And Nancy too. Even when it seemed as though she'd rather stick around with Dodger and the others, she'd loved him all along. And she still loved him.

But how could she?

He was no longer someone to be looked up to in the sense that he was the epitome of brilliance at what he did (although that still rang true). He was someone to look up to because, if you didn't, your throat would be torn out long before you could find words of apology. He was a man to be feared; a very violent man.

"_It ain't right to 'it a lady Morris…learn some manners."_

"_Gawd Nance…I'm so so sorry…I swear, this'll never happen again, I __swear__."_

He knew what he'd been doing tonight. He'd hit her; he'd hit Nancy. He'd sworn he'd never do it again…the first time he'd been drunk, he hadn't known what he was doing…but tonight…

But it was her fault…she was the one invading his mind, driving him mad! Not only could she do that, but she could make him feel guilty too! He wasn't guilty of anything; he'd done nothing wrong! He couldn't show weakness, he couldn't have any weaknesses…the greatest man of all time, the man he was destined to be, could have no weaknesses.

This struggle, there was no other word for it, was constantly raging inside the young housebreaker but tonight it felt worse than ever before…he felt as though he truly was going mad…

_RAT-A-TAT-TAT!_

The loud rapping on the door jerked Bill from his uneasy slumber. Cracking open his eyes a fraction he spotted Nancy, tousle-haired and wide-eyed, scurrying to open the door. Bill continued to watch as she lifted the latch and admitted the visitor…it was none other than Fagin.

Bill didn't know who else he'd been hoping to see, but it certainly hadn't been him. Besides, what was Fagin doing here at this hour of the night?

The fact that Bill was not fully conscious meant he couldn't make out much of the conversation; not Fagin's agitated whispers nor Nancy's murmured replies, equally as worried. He was able to catch a few stray words, words which, when cobbled together, made even less sense than when set apart.

Dodger…traps…the bridge…fever…

"_Will 'e be alright?"_

_A pause._

"_Can't say for certain, my dear. None of the usual treatments are working, y'see…"_

"_Have you contacted a doc-"_

"_Course not; the lot of 'em are a bunch of worthless quacks!"_

"_An'…an' the traps? They ain't found yer?"_

_A sharp intake of breath from the old man._

"_Who knows? I ain't seen any on my way over, but…"_

_More un-intelligible murmurs._

_Then;_

"_N-no…it can't be! It couldn't be! You're lyin' Fagin! 'E would never-"_

"_I've told many lies in my time, my dear, but this isn't one of them…"_

"_Is tha' why they-"_

"_Most likely."_

"_But…don't you reckon tha' wos a lie too? The letter? D'you reckon 'e could be…y'know…workin' wiv the traps, tryin' to get the lot of us in the clink?"_

"_You're talking nonsense my dear, nonsense. A touch of the fever yourself, perhaps?"_

"_I'm __fine__, Fagin. It's Dodge we should both be worryin' about…"_

"_My dear…" _

_Another pause._

"_How…how are things…here? With…with Bill?"_

"_I said, Fagin, I'm __fine__. Get back to Dodge, look after 'im best you can…"_

"_But-"_

"_You know I'd come now if I could…but I can't leave Bill…not now…"_

"_Very well, my dear. I'll see you in the morning, then."_

"'_Course Fagin. 'Night."_

The door closed with a snap and Bill heard Nancy's footsteps as she came back to the bed. The mattress creaked even under her slight weight, and Bill heard her sigh as she pulled the duvet more tightly about her.

The pair of them lay there in silence for a few minutes, trying to get back to sleep and listening to the wind rattling at the windowpanes. Bill felt Nancy shiver slightly as she huddled further under the duvet; he reached over and wound his arms around her, hugging her close to him.

_If she wasn't dreaming she guessed Bill would want to be left alone, but at the same time she wanted to comfort him somehow, make him feel better. Leaning over slightly, she managed to wrap her arms around one of Bill's, in an awkward sort of hug._

Nancy smiled gently at this gesture and gradually her breathing became more even as she drifted off to sleep.

Bill lay awake long after Nancy had fallen asleep, mulling over in his mind what she and Fagin had said. It didn't take long, however, for his eyelids to droop and his thoughts to become muddled.

Whatever they'd talked about, it could wait till morning, surely.

Just before he succumbed to unconsciousness, he turned to look at Nancy, so calm and peaceful in her slumber. He couldn't help but smile as he looked at her.

"Nance," he whispered drowsily, although he knew she couldn't hear him. "_I'm_ sorry."

--

**A/N: **Here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter, somewhat strange as it was. XD I love writing character's dreams and picking lines specifically written in past chapters for such purposes. See; there's a method to my madness. ^^

Please R&R!


	39. The Fever

Chapter Thirty-Eight – The Fever

When Bill awoke the next day, it was to find the flat empty; all except for Bulls-Eye, who was hunched over a greasy plate, licking it clean in a very noisy and unappealing manner. Bill groaned dispiritedly and considered simply going back to sleep, before realizing that the realm of nightmares was somewhere he didn't want to be.

He was Bill Sykes, tough as old boots, and yet those nightmares…scared him. His own words and the words of others, memories of years long past which he wanted to forget, things he wished he'd never done or said…all coming back to haunt him. He hated how he couldn't control his dreams nor make himself wake up when the nightmares began. He wasn't used to not being in control, to losing it.

But, he reasoned, as he got out of bed and dressed for the day, preparing to leave the flat, there were things he could control. Not to mention people. He had the whole of Spitalfields in the palm of his hand; a simple glare could send strong men scurrying away like frightened mice.

He wouldn't let anything, or anyone, make him give up this position. He was going to be the greatest man of all time; Fagin had always told him so.

He called for the dog and left the flat, the idea of going to the pub for his morning meal suddenly dawning in his mind. Strange that Nancy hadn't left him any breakfast…where was she, anyway?

The conversation he'd overheard last night between Nancy and Fagin began replaying itself in his mind so that, of their own accord, his footsteps fell in the direction of the old 'un's lair, rather than the Cripples as he'd intended. That was where Nancy would be…with Dodger.

He hated how that sounded, even though it had been long ago established that he and Nancy were together. Nancy and Dodger…how stupid had he been to have thought she'd be better off with _him_?

Before he climbed the rickety steps to cross the bridge to the den he took a quick detour to the back way, where Jeremy's crude headstone still stood, after all these years. How long had it been? Bill himself wasn't sure. He recalled the events of that night as if it had been yesterday, but years had passed since that fateful gunshot.

Bill didn't know how long he'd stood there, simply staring at the gravestone, lost in thought. It must have been awhile, however, as he soon heard footsteps and the creak of rotting wood, indicating that someone was crossing the bridge, heading for the steps. He whipped around, furious at an intrusion, just in time to see Charley Bates, looking as mournful as Bill had felt moments ago, looking down at the grave of his old housebreaking partner.

Charley, looking up at Bill, touched his cap by means of a more formal greeting; a fearful look flitting across his solemn features. Bill's harsh expression softened a little; Fagin had mentioned fever and the Artful Dodger in the same sentence last night, and Nancy had said it was Dodger Fagin should be worrying about. Charley, Bill reasoned, must feel equally worried, if not more so. Bill had seen the pair of them together and knew them to be thick as thieves.

This sympathy, however, didn't show in his tone.

"Wot're you doin' down 'ere?" he growled

Charley muttered something unintelligible and Bill proceeded to ignore him.

A few moments passed in silence.

"F-Fagin's in, if tha's who yer after…" said Charley eventually, jerking a thumb in the direction of the den.'

Bill shook his head.

"Wot 'appened to Dodger?" he asked, amazed at the concern making itself apparent in his voice. "Fagin came by last night, said somethin' 'bout the fever…and the traps…" He shot a quizzical look at the small boy before him; Charley stared back, biting his lip.

"It's kind've a long story…" he began, looking apologetic. "An' I don't know the whole of it neither. All I know is Fagin sent us out on the job, Dodge 'eaded off towards the bridge, didn't tell any of us why…'bout 'alf an 'our later I saw 'im runnin' towards me, a look of pure terror on 'is face…then I saw the traps runnin' after 'im…a whole lot of 'em too, blowin' their whistles an' shoutin' for the people about to 'elp 'em catch Dodge…Him an' me got back to Fagin's in one piece but Dodge…'e 'asn't been the same since…'e got a fever las' night…Fagin reckons its somethin' to do wiv all them rats down near the river…" Charley shrugged. "Tha's all I can tell yer, Mister Sykes."

Bill nodded. Now he understood how the words meshed together but there were still questions left unanswered. Why had Dodger gone to the bridge, so soon after Ezra's murder? Had the traps been lying in wait for any of the gang members Archie had betrayed? How had Dodger contracted the fever? And, a very selfish question, what did it mean for him? If the traps found Fagin it was only a matter of time before he was snatched too…

With this chilling thought in mind, Bill took his leave from Bates and hurried across the bridge to the den, opening the door and shutting it softly behind him, one of the many tricks he'd learnt as a housebreaker. The loft was quiet and relatively peaceful this morning at first glance, but, taking a closer look, Bill could see that it wasn't as tranquil as it first appeared.

Fagin was sitting in his usual chair, his eyes tired and rimmed with grey. He looked close to falling asleep where he sat, but he kept himself awake by fixing his attention on his best pickpocket, still a-bed, being tended to by none other than Nancy.

The young girl was crouched beside Dodger's bed, a caring smile gracing her features as she watched him. He was asleep at last; the fever had died down an hour or so before and it would only be a little while until he was fully recovered. Neither she nor Fagin knew the exact cause of the illness and Dodger had not been in a fit state to tell them.

Having smoothed Dodger's tousled hair and straightened his blanket about him, Nancy got to her feet, intending to leave, just in time to see Bill lurking near the door. She gave a gasp of surprise at his unexpected appearance; this in turn caused Fagin to start and nearly fall out of his chair.

Bill couldn't help a small smirk.

"G-good morning, m-my dear…" Fagin stammered, ending the greeting with a small yawn. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Charley told me wot 'e knows about all this," he said, meaning the Dodger's current situation. "Wot else can you tell me? Are the traps onto us?"

Fagin chuckled most uncharacteristically; usually he began to tremble with fright at the mention of the police.

"Don't you fret about the traps, my dear," he said airily, all his former tiredness seemingly gone. "I've had one of my associates tip them off…according to him we now all reside somewhere around Petticoat Lane…" He chuckled again.

"But the traps found Dodger at the bridge, when 'e went there?" Bill snapped, still fearful and not appreciating the fact, nor Fagin's mirth.

"Y-yes…that they did, my dear…" Fagin replied, regaining a little of his former composure. "Dodger went to the bridge to pay homage to poor Ezra, it would seem. There 'e was seen by the traps and chased back to the Cripples patch. Luckily, Charley caught up with him there and they made their escape…but he got that blasted fever soon after he got back here…I sent all the boys out to steer clear of him for a bit; poor dear needs his rest…"

Bill nodded again. It seemed they were safe, and Dodger would soon recover. Now all he needed was a large mug of gin to set him to rights.

"Nance, you comin' or you stayin'?" he asked, heading for the door once more, Bulls-Eye trudging along at his heels.

"Comin'," Nancy replied, pulling her shawl about her thin frame before hurrying to join him.

"Thank you, my dear," Fagin called after her as she and Bill exited the den. "I'm most grateful!"

"'E should be," snarled Bill in an undertone as he let the door slam behind him. "Askin' you to go an' look after Dawkins like tha'; can't 'e do tha' 'imself?"

"Fagin's got a lot on 'is plate," Nancy replied diplomatically, stifling a yawn of her own.

"Maybe I should've got the fever," said Bill, without meaning to, dislike evident even in the few words he spoke. "Then you'd've been 'ome lookin' after _me_."

Nancy, not sure what to make of the statement, simply smiled up at Bill.

"You get plenty lookin' after from me, Bill Sykes," she replied, after a pause.

Bill chuckled.

"Does tha' mean you'll pay fer the gin then?"

Nancy gave a short laugh of her own.

"'Course. I'd do anythin' for you, Bill."

--

**A/N: **Yay for fluffy song references! XD Here's hoping you all liked this chapter! Any ideas for fluff/drama you'd like to see in future chapters? Please let me know. ^^ I have a plan, but I'm curious as to what my reviewers think would happen between Bill and Nancy before the tale of Oliver Twist itself unfolded.

Please R&R!


	40. In This Life, One Thing Counts

Chapter Thirty-Nine – In This Life, One Thing Counts

In the weeks that followed Dodger's recovery, not all was as well as he. Bill, having shown a sliver of compassion towards Nancy and even Fagin in the few days Dodger had been unwell, was back to his usual, moody self. This wasn't helped by Fagin's lack of forthcoming when it came to Bill's payments; even when Bill was lenient and gave him a day to sort out the wages, he still got the feeling Fagin wasn't paying him as much as he should for his work.

This feeling grew stronger after a particularly difficult raid on the outskirts of Clerkenwell. It was much closer to home than Bill would have liked, in the city rather than the suburbs, not to mention the fact that the owners were still wide awake, playing at cards in the billiard room on the second floor. Bill had had to be especially quiet and therefore had been unable to swipe anything likely to make a revealing noise, such as a tea set or a heavily laden jewelry box. As such, the pay Fagin had given him had not been much, but even so, Bill thought he deserved more for his trouble.

It wasn't just him being egotistical; he was certain Fagin wasn't paying him his due. He knew, however, that if he went to another fence or to anyone else at all to be paid for his goods, then Fagin would find a way to get him back for it. It didn't mean anything, in that case, that Fagin was afraid of him. If Bill betrayed his trust and took up his business with someone else… the old man could easily have him hung.

But that wasn't to say Bill cared. He _knew _Fagin was selling him short, he just knew it. And being sold short was something Bill wasn't prepared to deal with. And who was to say Fagin would find out what he was up to? He was a housebreaker; he knew how to get himself out of tricky situations. And even if the old fence did land him in it, Bill would get his own back long before he was thrown into a cell.

He and Nancy needed to eat, to live. Fagin's lack of forthcoming meant that, even with the pair of them filching food from street vendors, there was little in the larder of the Bethnal Green flat. Bill simply had to get his money's worth if he wanted to survive.

It was a particularly dark night, a good night for business, if there'd been any to be done. Sykes, the items from the previous night's crib carefully concealed about his person, stole from his flat and into the growing blackness, on his way to The Three Cripples. There were plenty of fences and the like there, although Fagin was one of the more renowned and well-known.

The Cripples was much rowdier tonight than usual and warmer too as people bustled in to escape the cold outside. The air was thick with the mingled scents of smoke, sweat and the unmistakable reek of cheap alcohol but, for once, Bill wasn't there for a drink.

He made his way towards a shadowy corner, where a group of men sat taking, huddled around a small candle, cradling mugs and glasses in their bony hands. They were receivers of stolen goods, each and every one; Bill had watched them do business often the many times he'd visited the establishment.

The men recognized him, partly due to his frequent comings but also due to his reputation, as everyone in these parts did. Sykes was an imposing figure compared to them; they were scrawny and ragged, faces caked in grime, haunted, mournful eyes staring out from sunken sockets.

"M-Mister Sykes…" one of them croaked, after a brief moment. "Always a pleasure ter see you sir…"

Sykes rolled his eyes.

"'Ang about!" hissed another, squinting at Sykes through the gloom. "You do business with Fagin, don'cher?"

Bill nodded.

"Yer do realize, wiv all due respect, tha' if 'e finds out-"

"'E ain't gonna find out, cos you lot ain't gonna tell 'im. None of yer. Not unless you want yer blabbin' throats torn out."

This was said with such menace and finality that the ring of gentlemen was cowed.

"S-s-so…" stammered the first speaker. "Wot can we do fer yer?"

"Simple. I want this stuff valued. I get the impression the old rat's sellin' me short."

An appreciative laugh was taken up across the board. Sykes must be a fool not to have notice sooner; only if bribed or threatened would Fagin do anything, for the most part. He'd managed to sufficiently give Bill cash and avoid detection for this fault…until now.

"Well then mate, where's the goods?" inquired a third man, pulling a grubby monocle from his waistcoat pocket. "Can you believe this gents, 'ere we are, doin' business with the great Bill Sykes!"

"Shut it," growled Bill as he produced the various items from his pockets. "Get this stuff priced an' be quick about it. I ain't got all night."

The men took up several items each, the majority commenting on how impressed they were with Bill's talent, the others examining the various brooches and candlesticks for damage or disrepair.

The ragged group made quick work of Bill's assortment pronouncing the total worth to be at least seven pounds, ten shillings. Naturally Bill accepted their deferent offer of the sum and, having stowed the grubby banknotes carefully in his waistcoat pocket and re-concealed the goods about his person while the men were distracted by the appearance of one of the serving girls, made a swift exit.

At least seven pounds, ten shillings.

At least.

What was it Fagin had paid him after the last break-in? Three pounds, two shillings and a few small pennies?

Oh, he would have hell to pay for this.

Bill would make sure of that.

He directed his feet towards Fagin's den, a hurried walk at first which soon turned to a run…he wouldn't come straight out with it, he'd lead up to a climax, really make Fagin suffer for how badly he'd treated him over the years…

"Bill?"

Bill skidded to a stop, glancing about him to find the source of the voice. Eventually he spotted her, Nancy, coming down the steps from the bridge, like an angel descending from heaven with her radiant smile and her sparkling eyes.

"Bill, wot's wrong? Wot's 'appened?"

Nancy made her way quickly down the remaining steps and hurried to Bill's side; the look on his face was mutinous, showing her clearly that something was not right.

Bill was not readily forthcoming in his answer. Instead he gripped Nancy's upper arm, digging his nails into her skin.

"Where've you been tonight?" he snarled.

"W-Wot d'you mean Bill?" cried Nancy, startled at the sudden, painful pressure on her arm.

"Don't you back-answer me! Where 'ave you been?"

"Jus' 'ere!" Nancy replied, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, in attempt to make Bill so. "I came round to check on Dodger…"

"You ain't been anywhere else?"

"No!"

Bill cursed. That explained it all…this was why the pair of them were living on such meagre rations… It wasn't just because he was being distracted by thoughts of Nancy on the job. It wasn't just that Fagin wasn't paying him nearly enough. Nancy herself was doing nothing to help the situation of income.

"'Ow long 'as it been since you went to the Cripples?"

Nancy was stunned at the question; what was Bill getting at?

"Few weeks ago," was Nancy's honest reply. "Wiv you, after you came to see Fagin when Dodge wos sick!"

"I mean on yer own," snapped Sykes. "'Ow long 'as it been since tha'?"

Did Bill mean what Nancy thought he meant?

"A long time, Bill…" she said hesitantly.

If she were truly honest, the last time she'd been at the Cripples plying her trade had been just days before Bill asked her to live with him. 'Where had that Bill gone?' she wondered. The man gripping her arm wasn't the Bill she knew…he was violent, a bully, a monster. Her Bill wasn't like this; her Bill would never do something like this…

No sooner had she thought this when she felt herself being pushed roughly away, the iron grip on her arm suddenly gone. She hadn't expected this and stumbled, just managing to stop herself falling onto the muddy, icy ground.

"Get goin'," snarled Bill.

"W-wot?"

"You 'eard me! I risk my neck providin' for yer, an' it never occurs to you to return the favour?"

"Bill-"

"You expect me to do everythin' for yer? Give yer a house, food, a bit of cash in yer pocket? Well, tha' ain't me! I'm Bill Sykes, woman, I look out for myself an' myself only! If you want to stay wiv me, you'll get your sorry self down to the Cripples…even if I 'ave to drag you there myself; you're goin'!"

During this exchange, despite his pushing her away, Bill had advanced upon Nancy again, so much so that she was backed against the worn wooden steps, knowing that if she tried to climb them Bill would tear her back down.

"Please Bill…" she said, her voice hardly rising above a whisper, laced with unshed tears. "Don't make me do tha'…don't make me go back there…"

"_You'll do as yer told_!" Bill yelled, hitting Nancy around the face with such force that she staggered backwards, tripping on the step and bashing her head, hard, against it as she fell. She let out a cry of pain, but this only served to incense Bill further. He leant down and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet before turning and pushing her in the opposite direction of the den.

"You 'eard me Nance," he said, coldly and with great finality. "Get goin'."

If Bill had known that Fagin had been watching this exchange from the window of the den, alarmed by the sudden shouting, perhaps he would have behaved differently.

Then again, perhaps not.

--

**A/N: **I'm sorry if this was a blatant rip off of your story Katarina Sparrow m'dear! D: But it sets the scene so brilliantly for my next chapter. XD

Also the internet crashed last night so I couldn't get this up sooner. DX

Please R&R!


	41. Stern Alarums, Merry Meetings

Chapter Forty – Stern Alarums, Merry Meetings

It occurred to Fagin shortly afterwards that if Bill was in a furious temper (and headed his way) he should probably make himself scarce. Thinking in this vein he drew the curtain across the window and headed to the kitchen, where the trapdoor to the back way was situated. Time to test its effectiveness.

He heard Bill fling open the front door just as he'd finished heaving the last plank of wood off the hole to the ladder. Without pausing to think he scrambled down it, not caring for its creaky protests.

"_Fagin! Where are ya you miserable, sneakin', treacherous old g-"_

The old man heard no more as he alighted from the ladder and scuttled across the rickety planks to the safety of the opposite bank. He glanced over his shoulder just to check he wasn't followed, the frost glinting on the dead leaves and Jeremy's final resting place. It would have been an almost tranquil scene, were it not for Bill's continued shouts from above and Fagin's memory of his attitude towards Nancy.

Why had the housebreaker been so furious with her? Because she hadn't continued working at the Cripples? Surely he hadn't expected her to, after moving in with him? What sort of man was he to think that?

He must have sent her back because he needed money…that was the only logical explanation… He always complained Fagin never gave him enough…

Fagin cursed. If his suspicions were correct, his friends at the tavern had a lot of explaining to do.

--

"_Fagin? Where are ya you miserable, sneakin', treacherous old git?"_

Bill slammed the door behind him, breathing hard, his hands curling in and out of fists, his eyes flashing dangerously. Clearly he was not in a temper to be crossed.

Dodger, who'd been half asleep during the fight between Bill and Nancy at the bridge to the den, was now having a rather rude wide awakening due to the yelling reverberating inside his skull.

"''E's aroun'," Dodger said groggily, heaving himself into a sitting position. "Wot's the row?"

"Wot d'ya mean 'wot's the row'?" growled Bill, grabbing Dodger by his waistcoat and hoisting him from the bed. "Where's Fagin?"

Dodger was soon wide awake, if not by the yelling but now by the unexpected assault. He tried to wriggle free of Bill's grip, but the housebreaker was having none of it.

"Answer me you blasted little varmint! Where is 'e?"

"I said 'e's aroun'!" cried Dodger, still struggling to free himself. "Ain't 'e?"

Bill abruptly let go of Dodger and scanned the flat. Terrified eyes stared unblinkingly back at him from every nook and cranny, but none of them belonged to the man he sought. Unless of course he was hiding in his part of the den…

Bill stalked over to where Fagin made his home and ripped the tattered curtain aside. The small room, littered with bits of paper, broken quills and several empty gin bottles, was devoid of an occupant.

Dodger had been lying; Fagin wasn't around. Had he known Bill was coming? How could he have known?

Bill turned back to Dodger; the boy had got to his feet again and pulled on his hat in an attempt to seem taller and more intimidating (a feat which was completely lost on the burglar).

"You lied to me," Bill said softly. It wasn't a growl or a snarl, but something altogether more menacing. "You told me 'e wos 'ere an' 'e ain't!? Did 'e ask you to tell me tha', eh? Does 'e think 'e can escape me tha' easily?"

Dodger said nothing, too terrified at the danger in Bill's voice to do more than stare.

Bill, too furious and pent up with anger to say much more, strode towards the door again, intending to go and find the old fence and give him a (very painful) piece of his mind. Just as he was about to fling the door open again, however, he was verbally waylaid by Dodger.

"W-Where ya goin'?"

"Where's it look like?"

"Listen…I know you probably won't like this…but yer probably should know…"

Bill turned back round at this unexpected turn of phrase, raising an eyebrow at Dodger.

"Wot?"

"'S just…you know Fagin's pal tipped the traps off an' said we wos livin' somewhere else?"

Bill nodded, fearing the worst and even more incensed with Fagin than before.

"The plan didn't work so well…Ricky got seen today by the traps an' they followed 'im…they almost found this place but 'e got away from 'em at the last minute…they're still onto us, Mister Sykes!" Dodger sounded petrified, and as well he might! Bill had half a mind to beat him senseless, until he released it was Fagin he should be inflicting grievous bodily harm on rather than the pint sized pickpocket.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets to resist the temptation of lashing out at Dodger, Bill turned on his heel and stalked from the den, leaving the frightened boys to try and return to dreamland. At least, Bill thought bitterly, they only had the traps to worry about. They'd still have sweet dreams.

But he knew he wouldn't, if he even got to sleep that night. There was too much going on in his mind; thoughts of Nancy, Fagin, money, the fight, the traps, the drop…

First Fagin had the gall not to pay him what he deserved and now, thanks to his stupid friend, the peelers were back on their tail?! If Bill had been angry with Fagin before his spat with Nancy, he felt a thousand times more furious now. When he got his hands on him…

He returned to the Cripples, not really aware of where else Fagin might choose to go. It was much more crowded and noisy now since his previous visit that night, the smoky air occasionally wracked with shrieks and screams of laughter and the usual random bursts of half drunken song.

His appearance usually did something to quieten the crowd, if only a little, but not tonight. Tonight was one of those particularly rowdy nights, where it was each to their own and as much alcohol as possible. Chaos.

Peering over the milling heads from his vantage point at the doorway, he managed to spot Nancy, a painfully fake smile stretched across her face as she leant down to talk to someone. Even standing there in the doorway it was her eyes that affected him; her smile didn't meet them at all. She had the look of a caged animal, trapped and fearful.

Bill wrenched his gaze from her and made his way into the tavern, unable to help but feel a bit proud of himself as the revelers made a path for him and quickly scurried out of his way. He was intending to go and visit the fences in the corner again (maybe Fagin would be with them?) but he was distracted halfway there as he saw just who Nancy was conversing with.

Tim Evans.

_Both Fagin and Bill looked to face the speaker; a tall, broad-shouldered brute with a sweaty red complexion and a balding head, an expression on his face that could frighten even the strongest and bravest of men. No wonder Fagin quailed a little at the sight of him._

"_Oh…h-hello Tim, my dear…sorry to have kept you waiting…"_

_Tim… Tim Evans? Could it be? Bill squinted up at him; he certainly looked strong enough (and drunk enough) to have been his assailant on the night Fagin found him._

The same Tim Evans that had attacked him on the doorstep, the same Tim Evans he had later fought to protect Fagin before his first job…

Bill's fists clenched instinctively. Of all the people Nancy chose to talk to it had to be old Tim Evans…

Without pausing to think Bill strode over to the pair of them; Evans now had his arm around Nancy's waist and was laughing heartily at something she'd said…

"Get away from 'er, Evans."

Evans and Nancy both looked around; Nancy went white but Evans simply leered.

"Well, well, well, look who it is! You've really made a name for yourself ain't you?" Evans drawled, pulling Nancy closer to him.

"You deaf or somethin'?" Bill snarled, taking a step towards the pair. "Let 'er go."

Evans rolled his eyes. "Wot you think, jus' because you're the great Bill Sykes you can tell me wot I can an' can't do, eh? Who are you to say I can't 'ave this loverly lady all to meself hmmm?"

"Tha's exactly wot I think, Evans," Bill growled. "No-one takes my name in vain unless they want their brains strewn across the floor…especially not you."

Evans visibly paled a little but didn't loosen his grip on Nancy. She, for her part, was trying to extricate herself from his clammy grip; she just wanted to stop him and Bill fighting, to go back to Bethnal Green, just her and Bill, the ways things used to be…

Without warning, Evans suddenly relinquished his grip on Nancy and lunged at Bill. The housebreaker hadn't expected this and was knocked to the ground, banging his head against a nearby table as he fell. A few of the onlookers cheered at this exciting new development.

Bill threw a punch at Evans but the older man avoided the blow and threw a punch of his own It made its mark and Bill tasted blood, its metallic taste choking him… All the fury and anger he'd been feeling towards Fagin he soon let out in the fight; his rage only served to make him stronger and soon Evans too was bleeding…someone was screaming…

"Oi, gents!" came a voice over the sounds of the onlookers. "Break it up, will ya? This ain't a place fer fisticuffs…wot's there to fight about? There's gin enough for all of us!"

A few people laughed but Bill ignored the man, preparing to punch Evans again. No sooner had he raised his fist for the blow when he felt someone pulling him forcefully away from his adversary. Bill wrenched himself from the man's grip and turned to face him, a determined scowl still set on his face from the fight.

The man who had stopped him attacking Evans further was tall and lanky, with an air of sophistication about him not normally seen in the Spitalfields area. His hair was neatly curled and a similar colour to Fagin's, although much brighter; his small moustache and beard were the same. His face reminded Bill of a rat, but his clothes didn't suit the same description in the slightest. They were fancy clothes, finely cut and expertly tailored a blend of fine fabrics in a variety of rich colours and textures. A silken handkerchief hung from the man's coat pocket along with a pocketwatch chain.

Bill frowned. Who was foolish enough to _wear_ items they'd stolen?

"Who the blazes are you?" he snarled, still glowering at the stranger.

The strange man bowed low before straightening up and offering Bill a silk-gloved hand to shake.

"Crackit, Tobias Crackit, at your service m'boy!"

--

**A/N:** Yay Toby! XD I love writing him, so I had to add him even though the story's based mainly off of the musical. Anyone spot the 'My Name' reference? Gosh, I had fun with this chapter. =P

Please R&R!


	42. If Looks Could Kill

Chapter Forty-One – If Looks Could Kill

The fight was over, so many of the onlookers were drifting away, chattering amongst themselves once again. Evans had been helped to his feet by a couple of his cronies and he was now glaring daggers at Bill. If looks could kill… He'd get Sykes back for this if it was the last thing he did…

Bill didn't notice Evans' hostility but he could certainly sense it. The man was livid. Despite the fact that Bill was 'baddest on the block' he knew that from now on, more than ever, he'd have to watch his back. He'd underestimated Tim Evans.

"Well?" cried Tobias Crackit, interrupting Bill's vaguely macabre thoughts. "Aren't you going to shake on it?"

"Wot?" snapped Bill, guessing he'd missed something the flamboyant man had said. His hand was still outstretched.

"Aren't you going to shake on it?" Tobias repeated, giving Bill what he hoped was a winning smile. "It's wot friends do, ain't it?"

"Wot makes you think I'm your friend?" snarled Bill, still furious.

"Well…" the other replied, without the slightest trace of deference. "I just saved you from gettin' yer butt kicked, didn't I?"

Bill made a move as if to hit Toby, but Nancy held him back, surprisingly strong in her entreaty.

"Please Bill," she begged, her eyes brimming with tears. "_Please_. No more fightin'! Not just for my sake but for your own!"

Bill knew she was right, but that didn't mean he was going to accept it. He grudgingly nodded, however and turned back to face Toby, Nancy's tear-filled eyes branded in his mind.

Toby retracted his hand and gave Bill a sheepish grin.

"Sorry about tha'…'s just my way…"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"How's about we have a drink or two, eh?"

Bill nodded; he needed a drink. Ignoring Nancy's silent protests he shook her off and followed Tobias to a table, which was already littered with empty bottles. He sat down opposite his new acquaintance, with Nancy reluctantly taking a seat beside him.

The trio sat in silence for a moment or two until Bill had the presence of mind to summon one of the serving girls to get their gin. The drinks were soon brought to the table and the two men became further acquainted, while Nancy watched hesitantly from the sidelines.

"You can call me Toby me ol' mucker; don't mind if I call ya Bill? Know all about you of course; a real professional you are!"

"Keep yer voice down," hissed Sykes, although he knew perfectly well that everyone in the vicinity knew his occupation. Nevertheless it wasn't a good idea to go around bragging about a job like his.

Toby obligingly talked at a lower volume.

"I'm in the same business m'self as a matter of fact, but I'm nowhere as good as you, m'boy, nowhere near as good!" He clapped Bill heartily on the shoulder across the table before taking a large gulp of gin, continuing to speak as though he hadn't paused a moment. "You're a legend down our way, y'know?"

Bill raised an eyebrow.

"Whereabouts is your way?" he asked, out of curiosity.

"Petticoat Lane," said Toby, with a rougeish wink. "Great place, great people…but you can't beat the Cripples when you wants good gin!"

Bill was only half listening at that point; how this fellow prattled on! But then, something Toby had said clicked into place in his mind.

_Petticoat Lane_.

"You don't 'appen to know Fagin, do yer?" he asked, with more urgency then he thought he could muster.

"Might do," said Toby, but a glare from Bill lead him to confirm that yes indeed he was acquainted with the old chap and they'd done business together on several occasions. Fagin didn't pay well but what could he do? Once Fagin was your fence there was no getting out of it. He was so well connected he could have you dangling from the rope mere hours after you tried to switch to someone else.

Bill knew this of course but Nancy did not; she listened with wide, fearful eyes as Toby and Bill continued to berate and belittle the old man they only put up with for his wallet. She'd always known that Fagin was a bit mad…but never had she imagined he could be so…cunning…and deceptive, like that. He always seemed so merry and carefree (unless money or the police were called into question).

"You don't 'appen to 'ave tipped off the traps anytime recently, 'ave yer?" inquired Bill, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground but no longer caring. If Toby was the man, if it was his fault the traps were onto Fagin (and, consequently, him) again, any further thoughts of friendship would be swiftly terminated.

"Funny you should mention tha'," said Toby with a chuckle. "Jus' so 'appens I told 'em Fagin and company wos livin' roundabouts my patch, just to throw 'em off the scent. Seems they were after Fagin on information one of his older charges gave 'em…Andy, I think 'is name wos…"

"Don't talk about tha'," said Bill gruffly, his relaxed look instantly turning to a frown. "Jus' don'." The memories of Archie and Ezra, even after all this time, were still painful to him. How could Archie have done what he did; how could he have peached, lied…murdered?

"Bill?"

Nancy's voice suddenly rang in his ears, gentle but seemingly far away.

"Bill, are you all right?"

"W-wot?" said Bill startled, wrenching himself, with Herculean effort, back to reality. He couldn't, he mustn't let things like this distract him any more, not on the job, not even here. If he was going to be the greatest man of all time, he'd have to learn to let go of the past. Jeremy, Ezra, Archie, Frankie, Norman, Morris…all of them. He just had to.

"Yeah," he replied, after a moment, hurriedly taking a sip of gin as if to further cement himself in the present. "I'm fine; of course I'm bleedin' fine. I wos jus'…thinkin'…for a moment."

"Speakin' of thinkin', I've just come up wiv a brillian' idea!" Toby exclaimed, leaning forward conspiratorially.

"Wot?" said Bill with a mental roll of his eyes. Did this man ever shut his trap?

"I wos thinkin' Bill…why don't you an' me…y'know…go on a job together? Maybe jus' once, see 'ow it is. We're both 'ousebreakers, ain't we? Not to mention it'd be an honour to see the great Bill Sykes a-"

Bill got abruptly to his feet, slamming his empty gin mug down on the table so hard that a few nearby customers turned to stare.

"I'm not interested," Bill hissed, glowering at Toby once more. He would have said more but Nancy had got to her feet too. She looked pleadingly at him, silently willing him not to turn violent again. Bill noticed this but it only made him angrier. She didn't understand, she couldn't understand… Jeremy had been like that when he first met Bill; deferent, in awe of his every move and gesture…Dodger had been the same…and now Toby.

Without another word Bill stalked from the table, Nancy hurrying along behind him, leaving a very confused Toby to order himself another drink.

--

Bill slammed the door to the flat so hard behind him it was wonder it didn't fall off its hinges. Nancy started at this display of emotion; Bill was clearly livid so she had better stay out of his way…

As she thought this she made to rekindle the fire but Bill verbally stopped her in her tracks.

"Wot wos tha' all about, eh?" he snarled.

Nancy knew Bill would want an answer.

"W-wot Bill?" she said, as quietly and subserviently as she could. She'd already fought with Bill once tonight; she couldn't stand another row…

"As if you don't know!" In an instant Bill had seized Nancy by her hair, his nails digging into her scalp. Nancy tried not to wince, not to make a sound, but she couldn't help it…he was so strong, so powerful, and he was hurting her… "You 'angin' aroun' wiv Evans like tha'! Evans! Wot the 'ell were you doin' wiv 'im, eh? 'E ain't your man; 'e ain't the one who gives you a roof over your 'ead and clothes on your back? Or is 'e?"

"Bill please!" Nancy cried, struggling to free herself to no avail. "You're making no sense! You told me to go to the Cripples tonight, you insisted! An' now you're furious wiv me cos I did wot you asked?"

"'Ow _dare_ you back answer me like tha'!" Bill yelled, raising his hand as if to hit her, as he'd done before. But Nancy, despite not wanting to fight, despite everything…raised her own hand and struck the first blow.

Bill reeled backwards, his mouth agape. Nancy could see, even in the semi-darkness of the cramped flat, a red mark appearing on his cheek where she'd struck. She gasped; what had she done…how could she have possibly had the gall to do that…to _hit_ Bill…her Bill…

The next thing she knew, Bill's hands were around her throat. She tried desperately to prize him off but he was too strong, his face contorted with rage…if looks could kill…Nancy was certain, for a brief moment, that he could kill, her, that he _would_ kill her…Bill's face swam before her eyes…her tear-filled eyes…

As the corners of her vision faded to blackness, Bill relinquished his grip. Nancy collapsed onto the floor, struggling for breath. Bill felt as though he'd been near strangled to death himself; he was breathing hard, his hands clammy, his cheek still burning…

He had to get out.

Leaving Nancy still crumpled on the floor behind him, Bill wrenched open the door to the flat once more and stalked away into the night.

--

**A/N: **It's drama, drama and more drama with the old Plot Fairy over here! XD

Please R&R!


	43. Cash & Confrontations

Chapter Forty-Two- Cash & Confrontations

Having wandered about the streets for half an hour attempting to calm himself and get his thoughts in order, Bill made up his mind to walk to Fagin's. Early morning light was creeping up at the fringes of the sky, turning the worn cobblestones gold beneath his feet. His boots sounded ominously loud in the nearly deserted streets and he quickened his pace as he neared his destination.

He entered unbidden as he always did, spotting Fagin instantly. The old man was seated at the table and, in the weak sunlight oozing through the windows; Bill could make out another figure sitting opposite him.

"Fagin?" he called, closing the door behind him. "We need to talk."

The old man and his companion, the latter half hidden in shadow, turned to face the newcomer. The laughter died from Fagin's face as he surveyed Bill and Bill got the distinct impression that Fagin wasn't happy to see him.

"Indeed we do," he said, the slightest hint of a growl in his voice. "Sit down, my dear, sit down."

Bill did as he was asked, somewhat surprised to find, as he drew closer to the pair, that the man seated opposite Fagin was none other than Toby Crackit himself. He mentally rolled his eyes as he noticed the half empty glass in the red-haired man's hand; how much alcohol could he consume without losing consciousness?

"Toby and I have just been discussing some matters of business ourselves," said Fagin curtly, surprisingly awake at this early hour of day, and angry with it. "At least _he_ accepts what I pay him."

Bill's heartbeat quickened. Did Fagin mean what Bill thought he meant? But how could he possibly…

"Yes," said Fagin grimly. "I know all about your little visit, _my dear_."

"You expect me to put up with the lousy amount you pay me?" snarled Bill, immediately on the defensive. "You ain't payin' me enough Fagin an' I bleedin' well know it!"

Fagin raised an eyebrow.

"And why do you presume those other fences down at the Cripples are correct? They could be blowing things out of proportion due to admiration, or because they don't want to be on the receiving end of one of your fists!"

Bill had nothing much to say to that so he contented himself with glowering at the old man. Toby, for his part, hid a smirk behind his glass; not very effectively it should be said.

"I've known you for years, Bill Sykes. Those men only know you because you're at the Cripples every other night. I know the true value of what you bring back."

"For Gawd's sake Fagin! Wot you gave me the last time I went 'ousebreakin' for ya; tha' wos 'ardly enough to feed the bleedin' dog let alone Nance an' me!"

His mention of Nancy brought their recent fight swimming to the surface of his memories; he tried desperately to cast the thought aside and concentrate on the matter at hand but it was as if she was there in front of him, huddled on the ground, tears spilling from her eyes…

Fagin didn't seem to notice Bill's lapse in concentration, nor the pained expression that had suddenly appeared on his features. Instead he pulled his drawstring purse from his pocket and extracted a crumpled five pound note, two pound coins and a handful of shillings. He pushed the small pile across to Bill who, breaking from his reverie as he noticed the man's movements, snatched up the money and quickly pocketed it, shooting Fagin a curious glance.

"Seems your 'eart ain't made of stone after all…if you 'ave one at all," he said, doggedly.

Fagin chuckled and refilled his glass of gin, relieved that he'd managed to make Bill happy without being threatened and amazed that Bill hadn't got round to the threats. From what his friends at the Cripples had told him, when the housebreaker had found out he'd looked mad enough to kill! Who knew, maybe he'd got rid of his anger somehow before paying a visit…

Fagin didn't care how at that point, but he was glad of it.

"I must ask one thing of you, my dear. I'm being lenient with you this time, since you do, I admit have a point. But if you ever go back to the others again…"

He left the sentence hanging and Bill nodded, sullenly, having got the message. He had half a mind to carry out his threat and tear out the throats of the other Cripples' fences before coming to the conclusion that, if he did, more housebreakers would be turning to Fagin, meaning less cash for him. Best to leave it as an empty threat. He had his money; he was content…for the moment.

Having made sure his cash was safely stowed in his pocket, the burglar made to leave but Toby called him back, his words so slurred they were hard to make out.

"Aw c'mon Bill, m'boy wha's the rush?"

Fagin raised an eyebrow at Toby's blatant display of intoxication but said nothing.

Bill, though he'd rather return to his flat and sleep, was not one to pass up the opportunity of drinking Fagin's gin. He procured himself a measure and sat down again, contenting himself with watching Toby and Fagin discuss their own matters; apparently Toby's last crack hadn't been very successful, so was Fagin really to blame for his lack of income?

The brief discussion drew to an abrupt close after a minute or two and silence reigned. Toby broke it, of course, with an un-necessarily dramatic question.

"So, Fagin, me an' Bill 'ere wos thinkin' of goin' on the job together sometime; you 'ave any good cracks set for the next week or so, do ya?"

Fagin looked from Toby to Bill and back again; Bill had raised an eyebrow at the former, hadn't he told him he wasn't interested? Toby was probably too out of it to remember Bill's abrupt earlier departure.

"As a matter of fact I do," he said, with a cunning smirk playing about his features. "Assuming you're not in this state this time next week, there's a house in the countryside nearby I've been having watched…"

Bill chuckled a little at Fagin's words; assuming as such, would it really be that bad to go on a crack with Toby? Maybe it was the gin going to his head, but he was beginning to think that having Toby Crackit as his new partner might not be such a bad idea.

--

**A/N: **Not too fond of this chapter but it sets the scene for the next. ^^

Drunk Toby…XD

Please R&R!


	44. A Not So Humble Abode

Chapter Forty-Three – A Not-So-Humble Abode

A week soon passed and the day of the housebreaking dawned bright and early. Bill had, unusually, been up an hour or so before the sun rose, preparing his arsenal for the night's expedition. Ever since that night exactly one week ago, there had been a sort of invisible barrier between him and Nancy. He hadn't spoken a word to her and she hadn't dared say anything to him. It was an uncomfortable, suffocating silence, but it seemed neither Bill nor Nancy dared break it.

--

When he'd returned from Fagin's the previous week, it had been to find Nancy slumped over the table, an empty bottle clutched in her frail hand. Bill had prized it from her and carried her to the bed, but she'd been too out of it to notice his small gesture of kindness. When she'd awoke the next morning she'd found him gone; she had only the dog for company.

She kept replaying the previous night's fights in her head and she still couldn't make sense of them.

She could have sworn Bill had meant to kill her…she'd seen the fierceness and fire in his eyes, the snarl on his face…but he hadn't. He was certainly strong enough to, she knew that. But he hadn't killed her.

But she knew he could.

And the thought sickened and terrified her, as it rightly should.

But he wouldn't kill her…

Would he?

--

Bill loaded the gun with care, making certain afterwards that he had everything he needed. The house Fagin had described to him and Toby was a large one, out in the country. The people who lived there were the rich landowning sort with no need to work for their money. If the situation arose, Bill thought, he wouldn't mind shooting one of them out of pure spite.

But then it occurred to him that, brutal as he could be, he wasn't a killer. He could drink and shout and swear and fight but kill? It didn't seem impossible, what with Bill being who he was, but the man himself just couldn't picture it. He'd seen a man die, right before his eyes and had felt guilty enough then…and Bill wasn't a man for guilt or regret.

'Me; a murderer?' he scoffed to himself as he stowed his gun in the inside pocket of his greatcoat. 'Don't make me laugh.'

--

At long last night fell, a blanket of darkness draped over the great city. Bill roused himself from his chair and, having made sure he had all he needed secreted about his person, prepared to head off to Toby's. As he made for the door, however, he felt Nancy grab him from behind, engulfing him in a tearful, terrified embrace. Bill turned to face her and followed suit, but nowhere near as earnestly as she.

"Bill," Nancy pleaded, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes. "Don't go…please!" The last time Bill had been out housebreaking with someone else, the other man had died. For all she knew it could be Bill this time. Despite her fear of the man she loved, she was also scared _for_ him.

Bill stared back down at Nancy, unsure whether to let his emotions show or to keep them hidden. It was the first time they'd made contact in seven days…there would be other cracks…surely he could give up this one to spend the night at home with the woman he loved?

'No,' said a voice in his head. 'Are you mad? Fagin'll pay you handsomely for this one; don't let this opportunity go! Nancy will always be around, but the silver in that house won't. Get going!'

He shook his head as if to rid himself of the voice, but extricated himself from Nancy's grip all the same. He turned and stalked over to the door without a word, Bulls-Eye at his heels. As his fingers tightened around the handle, however, he was verbally waylaid by Nancy once more.

"Bill," she said, her voice hoarse from unshed tears. "Be safe."

Bill nodded and left the flat without a last look back. Even after he'd closed the door and the sounds of the city at night accosted his ears, he could still hear Nancy's pitiful sobs as she wept for the man she knew she loved…despite everything.

--

Petticoat Lane was bustling at this time of night, crowded with all the scum of the city's boots. Women loitered around the lampposts, ragged men huddled in corners, drunkards lumbered through the crowds and a small group of pickpockets were having a field day.

All as would be expected.

Bill rapped on the door of Toby's lodging house and was admitted by a scrawny, ill-shaven fellow clad in a shabby blue coat and torn breeches, who duly informed Bill that his name was Barney and that he owned the lodging house. Bill nodded sullenly as this information was afforded him and followed Barney up two flights of stairs to the flat Toby was renting out.

The suite of rooms was shabby, but Toby had made them look as nice as possible what with plenty of brightly coloured pieces of fabric strung on every available surface. Toby's large collection of neckerchiefs made a prominent appearance; they hung from various rafters and beams to serve as decoration, reminding Bill for a moment of Toby's fence.

The man himself was dressed in various shades of plum and cream, his hair as expertly curled as ever. He'd been tugging on his boots when he noticed Bill and, in jumping from his seat to greet his new partner, narrowly avoided falling flat on his face as one foot was higher off the ground than the other.

"Bill m'boy!" he crowded, arms outstretched. "Good to see yer!"

"Just get yer bloomin' boots on Toby," snapped Bill with a roll of his eyes. "I assume yer gonna cover up that getup once we're out? People are bound to recognize yer dressed like tha'!"

Toby chuckled, pulled on his other boot and motioned to Barney. The landlord opened an old wardrobe, which Bill hadn't noticed when first taking in the room, and pulled a long black greatcoat from its depths. He tossed it to its owner; Toby caught it deftly and shrugged it on, buttoning it, somewhat reluctantly, to the chin.

"Are you ready yet?" grumbled Bill a quarter of an hour later. Having at last found his hat and produced all sorts of vicious looking weaponry from the wardrobe, Toby was now busy putting it all in his pockets. Persuaders, guns, darkies…the works. It reminded Bill eerily of his first expedition with Jeremy; a thought which he was unable to shake off. He only hoped tonight's raid wouldn't end the same way as his last one with the young redhead had.

"Indeed I am," Toby said grandly, tugging on a pair of black gloves. "Shall we?"

The walk to the house took quite a while, even after hitching a ride to the edge of the city with a passing cab. Bill, though annoyed about the time he thought he was wasting, strode on with purpose. Toby, on the other hand, complained and grumbled under his breath almost all the way; something Bill only put up with because, if he didn't, he knew there was no way he could pull this off.

The house, once the pair reached it, was even larger than Fagin's sneaks had made it out to be; it looked like an impenetrable fortress compared to Bill's usual suburban ventures. He looked, somewhat uneasily, at Toby but the other man didn't seem fazed in the slightest.

It became very clear why when Bill attempted to prize open one of the windows with his crowbar. Toby shook his head firmly and, with a flourish, produced a key from his coat pocket. Bill frowned. How on Earth had he managed to procure such a thing? He was about to ask but Toby simply winked, tapped the side of his nose, and unlocked the servants entrance, disappearing inside without another word.

Bill, confused and interested, replaced his crowbar in his pocket and followed Toby inside.

Needless to say, in a house this large there was plenty to plunder. Both men were weighed down with all sorts of valuables after only ten minutes and it soon became clear they would have to be more selective about what they chose to steal as they proceeded to the upper floors.

Several rooms and three flights of stairs later and the job couldn't have been more successful. The pair of them tottered down the stairs and made their way back out the servant's door; Toby locked it and placed the key on the doorstep, blowing a kiss towards one of the upper windows having done so.

For once Bill didn't roll his eyes.

The pair of them arrived at Fagin's three quarters of an hour later, exhausted but pleased with the night's haul. Fagin was ecstatic and so he should have been; it had been Bill's best housebreaking yet. He gave Toby a knowing look as he examined the goods (Bill was, as ever, distracted by Fagin's gin bottle) and Toby simply grinned back.

"Worked a charm, Faygey!" he said proudly, chuckling a little at the nickname he'd coined for the fence. Fagin ignored the nickname as he always did, too pleased with the goods to bother reprimanding his more carefree acquaintance.

"I'll meet you two at the Cripples tomorrow night," he said, setting down a pearl necklace and grinning toothily at Bill and Toby. "I'll have all this totted up by then."

Bill nodded and rose to leave; Toby did the same, donning his hat carefully over his elaborate curls. The latter headed for the door first but Bill hung back a moment, staring at the vast pile of treasures he and Toby had procured, heaped on the worn old table like the contents of a pirates treasure chest.

Fagin noticed Bill's stare and looked up at him, a contemplative expression on his face.

"You've done Jeremy proud, my dear," he said softly. "He was a great man himself, and you're one too. The very greatest."

Bill knew Fagin was telling the old lie, telling him a tale just to get on his good side, but he nodded all the same, with the faintest of smiles.

"I'd better get back," he said abruptly, moving towards the door. "Nance'll be wondering wot's 'appened to me."

As Sykes closed the door behind him Fagin sadly shook his head. That she would. He had to wonder why Nancy cared so much; surely she knew that all the care in the world wouldn't tame Bill Sykes?

--

**A/N:** Here's hoping you liked this chapter; sorry it took me so long to get it up! D8

This may be the last update you'll see from me for awhile; friend's birthday party tonight, busy day on Sunday, then a week of school THEN the four-day (over the weekend!) Geography trip.

I should hopefully have an update sometime during the week before I leave on Friday though.

-fingers crossed-

Please R&R, my lovelies! ^^


	45. Guilt With A Smile

Chapter Forty-Four – Guilt With A Smile

Months passed, three at least, although Sykes couldn't be sure. He and Toby had been on so many expeditions since the first one that it was hard to count and even harder to remember every detail of them all. Toby's methods, Bill thought, were unorthodox, and most certainly not his style. But, to his surprise, they worked. And that was what mattered. The pair's last raid in particular had meant income to last at least a fortnight; unusual to say the least in the case of the pair's notoriously stingy fence.

Nancy, for her part in these proceedings, was pleased that Bill had found a new partner so he no longer needed to bear the risk of capture alone. But at the same time she hated what this meant; if two men had to go instead of one surely it implied danger, more of a risk. Not to mention the man himself, Toby Crackit…there was something about him that Nancy disliked and couldn't trust. It wasn't just his over-confident air or his flamboyant mannerisms; there was something else about him…something she couldn't place. The fact that Bill now spent so much time in his company only made things worse.

Every time Bill left the flat for Toby's Nancy would implore him, beseech him…on occasion she would outright beg for him not to go. She wanted him to stay with her, for things to go back to the way they were, when it was just the two of them. She didn't want him to risk his neck for a few of Fagin's coins.

But Bill didn't understand this; how could he? He couldn't read Nancy's mind. He would ignore her, push her away, leave without saying goodbye.

Things between him and Nancy had changed; he could sense it. Gone, it seemed, were those days of loving bliss and tranquility; the tenderness and kindness he had once displayed for Nancy felt all but gone. Nancy was afraid of him; that much he knew. Ever since that night when Bill had forced her to return to the Cripples she'd been a changed person; jumping at his raised voice, continually casting her gaze downwards and refusing to meet his eyes…

She'd changed. He'd changed.

And change brings out the best in some…and the worst in others.

--

"Bill? Your dinner's ready!"

Nancy stood by the neatly laid table and ladled stew into a bowl. The aforementioned housebreaker looked up from where he'd been preparing the evening's weaponry and glowered at the girl before him. Nancy lowered her eyes instinctively; she knew that look. Something was wrong; she didn't know what yet but she would most certainly soon find out.

"Where's the gin, Nance?" Bill growled.

Only then did Nancy recall, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that Bill had finished off the last of the gin the previous night. She'd been recruited by Fagin earlier that day to help nurse one of the boy's who'd fallen ill; what with all the to-do she'd neglected to buy more gin, neglected to perform a simple task, a mundane, trivial task which, she now knew from bitter experience, was about to cost her dearly.

"Th-there's no more," she stuttered. She could feel herself shaking.

Bill was not impressed.

"Wot's tha'?" he snarled, his voice steadily increasing in volume as he got to his feet and stalked towards Nancy. To most people an evening glass of gin was a trivial matter of little importance; if there was none in the larder they'd settle for a mug of beer or some other spirit instead. But not Bill Sykes. He needed to fortify himself for the night's expedition and, in his opinion and experience; a stiff mug of gin was the only way to do so.

Nancy took an involuntary step backwards; Bill towered over her, his hair untamed and wild, his eyes blazing, his hands curled into fists. It amazed her how angry Bill could get over a glass of gin; heaven knows how furious he'd be if she did something truly unforgivable. But then, she reasoned, she'd never do something like that. She would never want to harm Bill, she wanted to protect him. She loved him.

"Wot's tha'?" Bill repeated, shouting now. "Wot did you say?"

The terrified girl shook her head wildly, backing away still further, too terrified to say a word.

"Answer me, woman!"

In the split second it took for Nancy to open her mouth to attempt a reply she felt Bill's hand connect sharply with her head. She crumpled to the ground; the reply gone only to be replaced with a whimper of pain. She looked up at Bill and attempted to shield herself from the next blow but to no avail. Time and again he struck her until her feeble whimpers became cries for mercy. She was dimly aware of Bulls-Eye howling pitifully and scratching at the door as if trying to escape the room…but the dog too had no success.

Bill didn't care for the screams and cries that met his ears, didn't care for the furious red welts he saw appearing on Nancy's skin nor the tears streaming down her face. He was blinded by fury, entrapped in rage. It was as though a web of anger had him entangled, he couldn't escape, he felt unable to stop…

After what felt like hours the pain dimmed, the blows ceased. Nancy lay there, huddled on the ground, her cheeks burning with guilt, pain and shame. She risked a glance upwards.

Bill stared down at the fallen Nancy, breathing heavily. He glanced from her to his hands and back again, the old nightmareish feeling of guilt washing over him, the emotion he only allowed himself to fall prey to in dreams. It didn't help that Nancy was looking up at him now, her cheeks stained with tears, her lip trembling.

He'd sworn he wouldn't hit her again; all those months ago…it had been an empty promise. He should have known.

As she continued to gaze up at him his guilt grew stronger until he felt it would overwhelm him and he himself would break down in tears. He tore his gaze from hers wrenched open the door to the flat and stalked away, unable to find the words he so desperately needed to say.

_He'd sworn he wouldn't hit her…_

_But she'd deserved it…_

_For not buying gin? Was that just cause for so violent a beating?_

_Who cares for excuses?_

The battle continued to rage inside his head even after he'd downed a mug of the aforementioned spirit at the Three Cripples and thereafter directed his footsteps towards Toby Crackit's. He felt guilty in more ways than one as he went about the job that night. When he returned to Bethnal Green and found the flat empty he was momentarily thrown into blind panic; terrified that what he'd done had caused her to leave him for good. But even as he thought this, he knew she wouldn't. He knew she loved him.

But how could she?

Nancy returned from the Cripples as she usually did, a fresh bottle of gin clutched tight her hand, her face caked with dried tears. Bill turned to face her, but still appropriate words of apology failed him. Instead he took the bottle from her hand took a large gulp. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her smile weakly, pleased, relieved.

"Wot you smilin' at?" Bill asked, placing the bottle on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't ask unkindly though…he sounded for a moment like the old Bill, the one Nancy had fallen for.

"I…I'm glad you like the gin Bill…" Nancy replied, somewhat hesitantly. "Cripples' finest…only the best fer you."

Bill gave a small smirk of his own.

Nancy should have known Bill's good humor wouldn't stay long, she should have known it was too good to last. It always was. But she couldn't help returning the smile.

"Bill?" she said softly, after a moment. "You do love me don't ya?"

"Of course I do," said Bill without pause to think. "I live wiv you don't I?"

The pair of them shared a laugh…as it turned out; it would be the last laugh they'd share for a long, long time.

If either of them had known what was to come, if either of them had even anticipated the possibility, just for that moment…but they didn't.

It never occurred to them.

Why should it?

For that moment, all they had was each other. And that was what mattered.

--

**A/N: **I love foreshadowing. XD What I hinted at at the end of this chapter probably won't be what you're anticipating…I'm so nasty… -cackles- Not bad for a chapter penned on a schoolbus careering down a mountain in the middle of nowhere filled with loudly talking adolescents and annoyingly loud popular music blaring from someone's speakers, eh?

Anyway…

R&R my pretties! =)


	46. A Painful Prelude

Chapter Forty-Five – A Painful Prelude

Fagin had recently had been having a house scouted; a particularly large one teeming with valuables for his young housebreakers. The pair of them worked well together, Toby and Bill, and the old man was very pleased. The housebreak was set for later that evening, and Fagin had little else to do but wait for Bill and Toby to turn up.

The afternoon was quiet; all the boys were out at work. Fagin enjoyed having the flat to himself but at the same time he never felt quite at peace until all the boys were safely home again; an odd trait but so it was. He was very pleased (and somewhat apprehensive) when there came a knock on the door not a moment later. Setting down the handkerchief he'd been darning on the table, Fagin scuttled over to the door.

"P-plummy an' slam," came a quiet, scared voice from outside. A woman's voice; one Fagin knew very well.

Fagin opened the door and ushered a tearful Nancy inside the flat, entreating her to tell him what the matter was. The woman was gripping her shawl tightly as if to hold herself together and her eyes were red, her face blotchy.

It took a moment or two, but Nancy at last managed to make herself somewhat coherent.

"It's B-Bill…" she said mournfully, wringing her shawl in her hands. "Him….him an' Toby. They…they went out drinkin' last night, to celebrate last week's break in or somethin'…" She paused and wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand. "They…they came back roarin' drunk…you know 'ow they get…but they said such thing, such 'orrible things…After Toby left Bill changed 'is tack…'e seemed nicer…but 'e wos still terrifyin'…I wos so…so scared…" She paused, as if collecting her thoughts. "But tha' don't matter now…jus' me bein' hysterical…I'm alrigh' now…we both are…"

When Bill behaved kindly towards her, Nancy knew it would not last. His apparent kindness could be just as frightening as one of his rants; she never knew when he would snap, when he would lose control. This wasn't the only occasion Bill had acted like this, but this had been by far the worst. Not to mention what had happened afterwards, how Bill had beat her. That was something she wouldn't tell Fagin, something she'd never tell a soul. She'd convinced herself long ago that this was just his way; she would grin and bear it, because she loved him. She would never say a word against him, not to Fagin, not to anybody. Despite everything, she was in love with him. And this, she knew, would never change. Not even when she died.

_He's not a bad man really_, she told herself as she wiped away her tears. _He's just Bill_.

Fagin attempted to console her as best he could. He wasn't surprised but that didn't mean he liked what he was hearing. He'd known for a while that Nancy had her suspicions about Toby, and this development seemed to confirm his theory. Nancy believed that Crackit was, somewhat laughably he had to admit, a bad influence on young Sykes. He had never drunk himself to such extremes when not in company of his flamboyant partner; that Fagin knew for certain.

Although the matter worried him, what concerned him more was tonight's housebreaking. Tonight was the perfect night to go about such business he'd been told; the house's occupants were visiting relatives in Brighton and would not be back until late the next day. Bill and Toby had to be ready and alert, not lumbering drunkenly about like fools just begging for the noose to be slipped around their necks.

With this thought weighing heavily on his mind, Fagin offered Nancy a glass of gin to calm her spirits. The young woman politely declined; she had to get back to Bill, she said. Fagin nodded and waved after her as she left; shaking his head once she was out of sight.

Was Bill as kind and caring as Nancy made him out to be? Or would this all end in tears?

--

"You understand, don't you?" Fagin said urgently. Toby and Bill were seated opposite him, the former looking smug, the latter surly. "You have to be out as soon as you can be, my dears; they could come back earlier than planned for any number of reasons…stay aler-"

"Fagin, me ol' mucker, please," said Toby, with a lazy wave of his hand. "Stop bein' so bloomin' paranoid. I 'ave this all under control."

"You'd better have," Fagin said with a raised eyebrow. He didn't particularly enjoy Toby's know-it-all mannerisms, but he brought in the goods so he was willing to put up with him. "Well, what're you waiting for? It's already a quarter to!"

"For Gawd's sake Fagin," Bill grumbled. "Wot's made you so jumpy tonight?" He paused. "Don't answer tha'…turns out I ain't really tha' interested. C'mon Toby."

With that, Sykes and Crackit left Fagin's and made their way towards the night's house.

"You got the key alrigh'?" Bill asked Toby.

"Got it right here," said Toby with his usual roguish wink, tugging a small and slightly rusting key from his waistcoat pocket.

Bill nodded. Thus far everything was going according to plan. It did bother him though, Fagin's being overly paranoid. What was there to worry about? This was just like any other crack he and Toby had ever made…nothing had ever gone wrong then and nothing would now.

The house was soon reached, the fence vaulted. Toby scurried to the servant's entrance, Bill following in his wake. It never ceased to amaze him how Toby could do what he did and not get caught; surely one of the servants would be suspicious, at least? It appeared not. How did he do it? If Bill didn't know Toby, from first glances he knew he wouldn't trust him.

He was rudely started from his thoughts by Toby, who was frantically twisting to door handle this way and that, cursing under his breath.

"What the blazes is wrong wiv yer?" growled Sykes. "Open the bleedin' door!"

"Wot d'you think I'm tryin' to do?" snapped Toby.

"Wotever yer doin' you're takin' a long time of it!" amended Sykes. "'Urry up!"

Toby struggled still further with the lock for a moment or two before, at last, he came to an unwelcome conclusion.

"This blasted key don't work, Bill!"

"Wot?"

"You 'eard me! If I ever see _'er_ again I'll be sure to-"

But exactly what Toby would have done to the servant girl in question (not that Bill particularly wanted to know) he would never find out.

A commotion at the gate, a great clang as it swung open and crashed against the wall, raised voices, the glint of brass coat buttons, the sounds of a struggle nearby, a cry of pain…

Bill was only dimly aware of what was going on; it was as though he was watching the scene from above and wasn't part of it at all. He tasted blood and his wrists felt as though they'd been branded with white hot irons…

It was only when he felt himself being hauled to his feet that the realization dawned.

What was it Toby had said?

"_I 'ave this all under control?"_

He couldn't have been more wrong.

--

**A/N:** It's been far too long since I've worked on this, my sincerest apologies. Here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter! XD I certainly did.


	47. Newgate

Chapter Forty-Six – Newgate

How long had it been? Four hours? Five? Too long, certainly.

Fagin paced anxiously up and down the den, nibbling, rat-like, on his yellowing nails, his eyes darting about as if expecting to see Bill and Toby emerge from thin air. He pulled his pocketwatch from his waistcoat pocket and checked it. The faint light of early dawn was beginning to seep through the windows.

What was taking them so long?

--

Nancy had been up all night, unable to sleep a wink. Having tossed and turned for hours, unable to fall into blissful nothingness, she had stationed herself by the window in the hope of seeing Bill returning. Her eyes were lifeless and rimmed with grey and red, her hair matted from the countless times she'd run her fingers through it.

Where was Bill?

Something must have happened…

It was only then, as that terrifying thought entered her mind, that the young woman allowed herself to cry.

--

"W-wot the 'ell did I drink las' night?"

Toby's voice broke through Bill's fogged thoughts like a whiplash. He raised his head from the floor and struggled to open his eyes.

Then the memories of the previous night hit him full force. He was at once wide awake and on his feet, taking in his surroundings with numerous curses and threats.

The floor on which he and his partner had spent the night was cold and damp, flecked here and there with bits of straw. The room was narrow and cramped with two wooden benches, one on either side. The door was heavy and wooden, with a small barred window at its head. Glancing upwards along the worn stone wall, Bill let out his most furious curse yet.

That window too was barred.

He and Toby were in the clink.

For the next few minutes, having come to this realization, Bill cursed Toby, the key he'd acquired, the police force, Fagin and anyone and anything else it came to mind to curse at. Toby, seeming too to realize what had happened, shrank back in his corner of the cell, terrified. The fact that he was locked in here with no way of escaping Bill's wrath made the other's tirade all the worse.

"Bill," he began, after Bill had calmed down sufficiently to mutter the threats rather than yell them. "Bill, 'ow wos I to know, eh? I thought it wos just like any other crack! 'Ow wos I to know this wos gonna 'appen? If you wanna blame anyone, blame the wench wot gave me the key!"

Bill did so, but the turned his accusations back to Toby all the same.

"So wot you're tellin' me is, you wooed yer way into tha' 'ouse an' the servant girl gave you the wrong key?" he snarled, resisting (with a great effort) to bash Toby's head in.

"Basically," said Toby guiltily.

"Tha' means I can assume she's peached on yer?" said Bill furiously. "She seems all contrite, gives you a key, you go off on yer way, she tells the traps…we come to break into the place an' get ambushed by the traps? Is tha' wot I'm meant to assume 'ere you worthless piece of-"

"Alright, alright!" cried Toby, hands over his ears. "Tha's probably right an' I don't want to 'ear it! We're in the clink…ain't tha' enough for ya?"

Bill nodded miserably, suddenly lost for words. As if in an attempt to make him feel worse, thoughts of Nancy suddenly accosted his mind. He groaned and hid his head in his hands, biting his lip as if to keep back another scream of frustration.

This abrupt change in Bill's attitude scared Toby; even more so than his shouting. The ginger haired man repaired to his wooden bench and sat then, chin resting in his hands, brow furrowed as he tried to come up with something, anything to say that might patch things up between him and Bill, or at least break the awkward silence.

But he could think of nothing.

--

Dodger ambled down the cobblestones, half-heartedly looking for a likely pick pocketing candidate. But it was still quite early and not many people were about. Vendors were just setting up their stalls, the shops just taking down their shutters. Dodger whistled to himself as he walked, completely at ease with himself and his surroundings.

By the by the streets became more crowded and Dodger set to work. He was thoroughly engrossed for an hour or two, the thrill of the job, the dodging and weaving through the crowd keeping his mind occupied.

But soon, as all young people do, he grew hungry and was forced to halt his endeavors momentarily to swipe himself some food from a nearby market stall. As he found himself a spot in which to eat it, he overheard two young men in tailcoats discussing the morning's news. Normally Dodger wouldn't have cared, but what they were saying piqued his interest. Only when he'd heard the whole of the conversation did he realize just how the previous night and panned out.

He knew, in that moment, that everything had changed.

For the worse.

"Did you read the paper this morning Anthony?"

"I most certainly did, my good man. See those two men that got caught outside the Morgan's house last night?"

"Oh yes indeed. Shocking business that, shocking."

"The men were wanted for a few other such escapades, you know. They're in jail now, of course, Newgate, I expect. They'll be there for a good long time to come, I should hope."

"But they hadn't actually broken in when they were arrested…doesn't that mean they'll get off?"

"I most certainly hope not! Are you defending these villains?"

"Not at all! How could you draw that conclusion? I was simply observing-"

"Oh, it's no matter now. What were the men's names again? I have some connections to the chief constable you know and might be able to make their sentences a bit longer…"

A chuckle from his companion which, to Dodger's ears sounded like the laughter of an evil and twisted villain who had at last reached the final phase of his master plan.

"Why, I thought you would have remembered! Everyone's heard of them, though they've never been caught!"

"Well?"

"Tobias Crackit and Bill Sykes. That's them. In Newgate Prison."

--

**A/N: **It's been far too long since I worked on this story. D8

Apologies.

Here's hoping you enjoyed this chapter!

Please R&R!


	48. The Bird's Mouth

Chapter Forty-Seven – The Bird's Mouth

Dodger hurried back to Fagin's as fast as his legs could carry him, having to hold tight to his top hat to stop it falling off his head. His breath came in short sharp gasps and his face was soon flushed but he couldn't stop running…he had to tell Fagin, he had to tell the others…and what about Nancy? Did she already know? Dodger's stomach churned at the thought; how would she react to the news? Not well, he knew that much.

--

"H-he didn't come b-back…I-I d-don't know w-where he i-is…"

Nancy's terrified voice and heaving sobs were the first things Dodger heard as he stepped into the flat. She was slumped at the table, her hair tangled, her face caked with dried tears, her lip trembling. Fagin was seated next to her, looking very unsure, biting his lip and attempting in vain to offer the young woman condolence. At the sound of the door closing however both looked over; Fagin at first looked relieved but his expression turned even more anxious when he saw who it was, Nancy's face had first been flooded with relief but, similar to Fagin's, had been clouded over with doubt soon afterwards.

Fagin was the first to speak.

"What're you doing back here so early, Dodger?" he asked. Then, more forcefully; "Are the traps onto yer?"

"N-no," replied Dodger quickly. Now he was back he couldn't seem to find the words he needed to say. How could he tell Nancy when she looked so helpless, so afraid? What he had to say would make her feel a thousand times worse? But then how terrible would he feel if he didn't tell her? She had to know.

"I-I heard somethin' on the street," he managed to say. "About…las' night. Toby an'-"

Before he could finish his half formed explanation Nancy had sprung from the table and rushed over to him, a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed the front of his jacket and shook him roughly, desperately.

"Wot's 'appened to 'im? Wot did you 'ear? Good Gawd Dodger don't just stan' there! Tell me wot 'appened!"

Dodger had never seen Nancy so angry and yet so scared. He hated to admit, even inside his own head, how much it frightened him.

Fagin took a step forward as if to restrain Nancy from Dodger but thought better of it at the last minute, not particularly wanting to be on the receiving end of her emotional instability. He knew she could be every bit as ferocious as Bill when need be.

"He…'im an' Toby…they-"

"They _wot_?"

"They…they got caught."

The scream of distress and fear that issued forth from the terrified young woman before him would haunt Dodger till his dying day. Nancy abruptly let him go and sank to the floor, her body wracked with fresh sobs. Both Fagin and Dodger moved as if to comfort her or help her to her feet but she would have none of it.

Bill, her Bill, was in the clink.

And there was nothing she could do but cry.

--

"Order! Order in the court!"

The magistrate banged his gavel hard on the podium but to no avail; the crowd continued to chatter away like a million bees in a hive, speculating about the criminals to be charged or simply gossiping away like old wives.

He hated his job.

And yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but love it. What other job in the world allowed you to play God with people's lives?

"For heaven's sake man!" the judge called to the clerk over the hubbub. "This trial was supposed to start five minutes ago."

"I'm sorry sir. Apparently the prisoners refuse to come quietly."

It was all the magistrate could do to stop himself putting his head in his hands and yelling something uncouth.

--

The route to the courthouse had not been an easy one to take for any of the party involved; the prisoners struggling madly to escape or the policemen keeping them detained. That wasn't to mention the large variety of colourful words (and both parties' collections of colourful bruises). But, at long last, the court was reached.

Bill couldn't remember feeling this angry; this scared, in his life. Even Jeremy's death couldn't compare to this; for all he knew within a week he'd be staring death in the face. It didn't help that even now, as he was hauled into the courtroom to face the baying crowd and the beak himself that thoughts of Nancy, Fagin and the gang refused to leave him be.

Toby too was worse for the wear, his face fluctuating through various stages of pale clamminess, his usual overconfident air completely vanquished. He and Bill had put up a fight, not only against the traps but against their lesser felt emotions, but all in vain.

When both men were deposited in the dock and looking up into the cold, cruel eyes of the beak, Bill was almost certain Toby was going to faint, or at least be sick. His accomplice was literally quaking with fear, his eyes wide. Bill, for his part, kept a calm outward façade, but inside…inside he was screaming.

"_Order! I will have order_!" bellowed the magistrate, at last losing his temper (which did not bode at all well for the men in the dock before him). "What are these two charged with?"

At long last the crowd fell relatively silent, all eager to watch the trail unfold.

"Intention to rob the house of Stephen Morgan last night at eleven thirty, sir. Not to mention various other fully executed burglaries spanning the past few months."

The magistrate nodded, seeming pleased.

"Do we have any witnesses to the alleged crimes?"

It was from there on in that things took a turn for the worse. It seemed that all the occupants of all the houses that Bill and Toby had ever robbed, plus their servants, had come to the courthouse that day. One servant had peached and it seemed to have spread like a fever. With each witness Bill felt his heart sink lower and lower; there was no way at all that they could escape this, the probability that they could was laughable. When the magistrate called for defence and no-one came to the stand it was painfully obvious what their fate would be.

"Do you have anything to say on your own behalf?" the magistrate enquired at length, in a tone that clearly showed he thought he was wasting his time.

Bill shook his head. There was no point trying to say anything in an attempt to prove his innocence (even if he did have something up his sleeve it was certain not to work). Toby seemed surprised yet understanding at Bill's lack of speech; he too could think of nothing to say and so kept his mouth shut.

The magistrate had been expecting some sort of threat but nothing at all came from the two prisoners. Somewhat shocked but pleased nonetheless, he proceeded to pass sentence.

Despite the fact that Bill and Toby hadn't succeeded in getting into the house the previous night, they had raided plenty before, enough to put them both away for a very long time. And so it came to pass that Bill Sykes and Toby Crackit were sentenced to eighteen months in Newgate prison…eighteen months with hard labour.

--

**A/N:** Once again it's been far too long since I worked on this. Oliver! Rehearsals are well underway, plus tons of work in preparation for our upcoming IGCSE mocks…bleh. Hopefully I'll be able to update more soon (no promises though!). Here's hoping you are continuing to enjoy this story my dears! C: Please R it would make me oh so happy. ^^


	49. Twisted

Chapter Forty-Eight – Twisted

"Well, at least we ain't dead."

Bill and Toby were back in their cell, the former brooding, the latter surprisingly cheerful all things considered.

"Not yet," growled Bill, looking up from the grimy floor to glower at his accomplice. "We couldn't easily been sentenced ter the drop, you realize."

"Wot, fer robbin' a few 'ouses?"

"Robbin' 'ouses, stealin' wallets…you can get 'ung fer anythin' these days."

"Well then, we're lucky ain't we? Eighteen months an' we'll be free!"

"Do you realize 'ow long eighteen months is?"

Toby shook his head. He'd never been properly educated; he could barely count to eighteen! It was always Fagin who did the arithmetic and this suited Toby fine (he had no idea how short Fagin sold him).

"As I thought," Bill muttered. He himself wasn't entirely sure but, needless to say, it was a long time. And the hard labour, he knew, would test him and Toby to the limit. Bill wasn't a man for being cooped up and submitting to authority. His status and his reputation meant nothing here. He wondered, his heart sinking, if he would be able to survive.

He, Bill Sykes, was afraid.

--

The first few months, Bill had assumed, would be the worst. And they were certainly dreadful. The hunger from lack of sufficient food, the lack of alcohol in which to drown his sorrows, the tedious and painful regimes of hard labour…

Not only that, but he'd managed to get into scraps with the other prisoners on a number of occasions and was soundly punished for it. The pain and humiliation of these instances tested him to the limit, and he soon became certain he was going mad.

Toby fared no better; he'd fallen violently ill on one occasion but that hadn't spared him the day's work; far from it.

Yes, the first few months were bad. But it was the last few months that were the worst. The anticipation of freedom, knowing it was so close at hand, and yet you still had to wait. Bill couldn't wait to be free again, to get back to Bethnal Green, to Nancy…

She'd managed to bribe the jailer to get in to see the pair of them shortly after their trial. Her brief stay had meant to cheer Bill up, if only slightly, and to reassure her that, despite his current situation, he was still relatively alright and in a sound mind. Unfortunately these brief visits that continued over the eighteen months only served to make Bill feel worse after Nancy had been escorted out of the cell and led away; she was still free and he wasn't with her…

Did he still love her? The question had burned in his mind ever since the first time he'd struck her, but it kept resurfacing with alarming frequency in the few times he was left alone with his thoughts, or in his nightmares.

He told himself he loved her; but if he did, then why did he treat her like that? Why did he beat her? He'd tried to come up with the answer, tried to justify his actions…it all seemed so complicated, so difficult to comprehend. He was sure Nancy did something to deserve the treatment he gave her…so why did he feel so guilty after every blow he struck?

Bill Sykes detested the feeling of guilt, the feeling he'd done something he shouldn't have. He did what he had to do to survive, to stay alive. If his life was threatened…if one of the gang peached and it got traced to him, or if he was ever caught again…there would be consequences, he knew. And they would be brutal.

--

The day of Bill and Toby's freedom dawned cold and drizzling with rain, in stark contrast to Bill and Toby's elation. The jailers had seemed reluctant to let them walk free, but they were that way with everyone.

The pair of them parted ways, Toby heading back to Petticoat Lane with a jovial wave and a wink; Bill returning with all haste to Bethnal Green.

His reunion with Nancy was a tearful one, at least on her part. As soon as he walked in the door she'd run over and flung her arms around him, crying tears of relief and joy, laughing at the same time with sheer elation. Even Bulls-Eye barked happily at their feet.

Bill himself was ecstatic to be back, and yet there was something, within himself, that felt out of place. Memories of his stint in Newgate were still fresh in his mind and he was unable to shake them off; the hunger, the pain, the guilt, the _fear_…

Sykes wasn't used to feeling that way and he knew, even then, that those feelings would be branded in his mind for the rest of his life…just like Nancy's tear filled eyes.

Looking down at her now, sobbing deliriously into his chest, he managed a smile, but it was weak, fake. Nancy didn't appear to notice, so pleased was she to have him back. She truly believed he loved her; she had no idea of the torment he'd endured in jail, yearning to free like an animal in a cage.

_She wouldn't understand; she'd never known the pain he felt…_

--

Fagin arrived at Bethnal Green early the next day, as if to reassure himself that Bill was alive and well. Bill greeted the old man with his usual gruffness but Fagin noticed there was something different about him. It wasn't just the rings of grey about his eyes or the strange sallowness of his skin…it was as if something had changed inside the young man. There was a certain lack of life about him, the way he had looked when Jeremy had been killed. Fagin shuddered to think of what the clink had been like for Bill; if it had changed _him_ this much it was all the more firmly cemented in his mind as a place he didn't want to be.

Fagin brought Bill up to date with all the latest goings on in the gang and in the city but Bill told Fagin nothing of his experience in jail, even when asked. It was very clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

The elderly pickpocket left soon afterwards and Nancy, reluctant as she was to leave Bill's side, had to go out and buy some gin to replenish the rapidly emptying cupboard. The housebreaker was left alone with his thoughts, which didn't suit him at all, considering what they were. He suddenly had the urge to attack something, to destroy it. The impulse came upon him suddenly, with no previous thought to the matter. He managed to deal with it by kicking Bulls-Eye as the dog lurked under the table…but that emotion, and the suddenness of it, alarmed him.

Why had he felt like that? Was it fury at himself, for succumbing to cowardly emotions like fear and guilt? Was it anger at Fagin for making him and Toby go to the house? Was it anger at Toby for being found out?

He hadn't the slightest idea, but he was almost certain it had something to do with his time in Newgate. For all he knew, it had driven him mad. Not mad in the sense that Fagin was mad, but in a worse way, a violent way.

The sort of madness that could drive a man to murder.

The thought struck him, the idea of murder. It was like that night, preparing for the job, after he'd fought Evans to keep him away from Nancy. He'd scoffed at the idea of becoming a killer; he'd seen a man die before his eyes…and what reason would he have to kill anybody?

But now he wasn't so sure anymore.

--

Even as Bill contemplated this, many miles away, a young boy was apprenticed to an undertaker, a man whose business dealt in death. Neither that young boy, nor Bill Sykes could have guessed, that their actions would lead to an untimely demise…another, dreadful, death.

--

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of updates as of late; revision is pure evil, I tell you. D:

I'll be updating whenever I get the chance, but these chances are few and far between, at least for the next few weeks. Just a heads up. ^^

Please R&R so I have something to look forward to besides Maths revision! XD


	50. Tumbling Billows Of The Main

Chapter Forty-Nine – Tumbling Billows Of The Main

It had been a few days since Bill and Toby's release from prison, and everything seemed, at least at first glance, to be going as it should. But it wasn't…not really. Nothing was as it had been, and it never would be again.

Despite where it had just landed him, Toby was eager to go on the job once more, if only to get himself back in Fagin's good books. Surprisingly Fagin had been lenient with Bill and hadn't forced him right back into housebreaking, but to Toby he'd been less kind. After all, the old man blamed him for what had happened, and as well he might.

But Bill was resolute. No matter how much Toby wheedled and pleaded he would not budge in his resolve to not go housebreaking again, at least not until things had died down. But when would that be? He didn't know. But Toby wouldn't break him. The man was mad, wanting to get back on the job so soon after their stint in jail; had the experience taught him nothing?

It seemed it hadn't. Despite the trauma of the experience Toby was soon back to his old ways. Neither Bill nor Fagin made any attempt to stop him; Sykes didn't care what mess Toby got himself into; it was his problem and he could get himself out.

He concentrated his attention for the most part on Nancy, in an attempt to make up for those long months in prison when he hadn't been by her side. Before his time there he'd been furious and hateful towards her but now, having had time to reflect on how he treated her, he seemed to have returned to his old ways, the way things had been when he and Nancy first lived together. The young woman was, of course, surprised and thrilled to see the old Bill returned, and the two of them got on comfortably…at least for a day or two.

All too soon things started to go sour. Bill's relief and happiness at getting out of jail was clouded by Toby's consistent badgering about housebreaking, Nancy's persistent infatuation, Fagin's badgering Toby which led him to badgering Bill…

It was all perfectly normal, or at least it would have seemed normal and wouldn't have bothered Bill ordinarily. But ever since Newgate he'd become much more quick to anger than usual, and these annoyances only served to worsen his mood. He had soon returned to his old, moody and angry self, but by tenfold. Fagin, Dodger, Toby, and Nancy especially, hardly dared say a word lest it upset him.

But Tobias Crackit was becoming desperate. He had scarcely enough cash to feed himself, let alone pay the rent on his flat. Barney, despite his liking of the man, had threatened now on numerous occasions to toss him out onto the streets. Toby had tried to explain the situation but the landlord would have none of it.

It was at that point that Toby decided to take matters in his own hands. He'd done plenty of cracks without Bill before, and this time he would prove he wasn't the idiot Bill and Fagin seemed to think he was.

Without telling either of them, or even Barney, Toby set off one evening with one purpose in mind; raiding the poshest house he could lay eyes on and returning triumphant, just to spite them all.

The house was larger than any he and Bill had ever raided together, owned by a man of good renown, a lord or something as Toby understood it. It was all the better that the man was titled, more pickings for him. It had been harder to enter the place though, having refrained from his usual tactics, but he'd managed it. In their time working together Toby had learnt a little from Bill's methods and put these lessons to use as he pried open the window with his crowbar.

He was in. The house was deserted. Resisting the urge to whoop with joy at his success thus far Toby proceeded to pinch all he could lay his hands on, regardless of what it was or its worth, doilies, candlesticks, framed portraits, figurines, boxes…

The mad frenzy with which he collected these items did not cease until he could collect no more, every pocket he had had been filled five times over and it was getting hard to move what with the bulk and weight of it all. But the window was his only means of exit. And thus he took it.

The great clattering and clanking he made as he toppled ungainly from the window ledge to the grass below was certain to have alerted someone, especially since the neighborhood was so quiet. Toby lay there a moment or to, trying to stifle his own breath in case he was overheard. Nothing.

Trembling slightly with a strange mix of adrenaline and relief Toby staggered to his feet and glanced about him. He could see no-one. Pleased and unable to help a wide smirk, he began to make his way forwards, wondering how he was going to scale the wrought iron gates to the grounds.

It was only then that he heard the growling.

His smirk disappeared in an instant and, although he knew what was coming, turned to look anyway. The dog was massive, at least three times as big as Bulls-Eye, its sharp eyes glinting, its ferocious teeth bared in a snarl.

Toby ran.

The dog pursued him.

By sheer luck Toby managed to clamber over the fence, but the dog wasn't to be deterred. Toby didn't see how, as he was concentrating on running as fast as he could despite the stolen goods weighing him down, but from the furious barking close at hand he knew the dog was hot on his heels.

Cursing loudly, no longer caring it would add to the din that was already being made, Toby continued to run. He didn't know where to, he didn't even know how, his legs were weak and trembling beneath him, his vision blurred with panic and fear…

The houses roundabout were disappearing now as he entered the brief rural zone before the smog and grime of the city. He was nearly there…he'd surely be able to lose this hell hound in an alley or something… There was a small river up ahead, a narrow bridge…Not far to go now…

He stumbled, flailing wildly in an attempt to steady himself and toppled to the ground. In an instant the dog was about him, as savage and brutal a beast as one would never wish to encounter. The bulky items in Toby's pockets prevented the dog from being able to get too strong a grip on him but the struggle between the pair of them was still fierce. Toby at last managed to push the dog off, as it soon grew tired of fighting something that fought back, seemingly not having had much experience in the field.

Toby once again got to his feet, wiping a trail of blood in a disgruntled manner from his top lip and attempting to regain some semblance of his former self as the dog slunk back into the enveloping night. He stumbled again, before realizing with a sickening sensation as the pain overwhelmed him, pain which hadn't been felt in the conflict, that his leg was bleeding, and heavily too. The dog had certainly been a match.

Still cursing, though in a voice not dissimilar to that of a whisper rather than a yell, his face ashen, Toby attempted to walk the short distance to the bridge; his tussle with the dog had brought him closer than when he'd been running, but still not quite there…

He stood at the bridge's edge and put a foot forwards to step onto it. But his injured leg gave way beneath him and he fell once more, at an awkward angle on the river bank, slippery with wet grass and mad.

Toby tried to reach for the bridge, something to hold on to, but he was falling too fast. There was nothing along the bank, and soon he hit the water, which pierced him like a thousand blades of ice. He let out a scream, half from the cold and half from fear as the fast flowing current battered and raged against him.

He couldn't swim.

The goods in his coat were weighing him down, dragging and pulling him under the water. He tried desperately to extract himself from its heavy folds, but they were so logged with water that the task was next to impossible. He spluttered and struggled against the water for all he was worth…

The following day the headline read:

**HOUSEBREAKER TOBIAS CRACKIT DROWNED IN BRUMLEY RIVER AND WITH HIM EVIDENCE OF HIS LATEST, AND LAST, ROBBERY**

**--**

**A/N: **An update at last! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long!  
And yes, I killed Toby. Why? Because he's not in the musical and I can just see him with his own song. So I had to get rid of him. =P Besides, it'll drive Bill even crazier in future chapters and goodness knows we all like crazy, furious Bill Sykes, don't we?

Please R&R!


	51. How Things Have Become

Chapter Fifty – How Things Have Become

It was not as though Bill and Toby had been particularly close; barely even partners let alone friends. Sykes had always made it known, even in Toby's face on occasion, that the man irked and irritated him no end. And yet Toby Crackit's death brooked a change in Bill Sykes than none in the gang could have anticipated.

It was though it was one loss, one death too many. He'd seen the old gang disappear; caught, transported, killed… He'd seen a man bleed to death before his eyes. And yet it was the death of the flamboyant housebreaker that sent Bill over the edge.

It was widely suspected among the gang that Bill Sykes had finally cracked, lost his head, gone mad. Hardly a word could be spoken to him that didn't set him off into the most ferocious and violent of tempers. But even though it was well known that Bill was violent, Fagin and the boys, for the most part, had no idea how just how much the relationship between Bill and Nancy had deteriorated; plunging from seemingly genuine love into the throes of terror, madness and pain. Little did they know they would soon find out just how bad things had become.

It was the day after Toby's death when the truth was revealed. Nancy had gone to visit Fagin and the boys, as she hadn't been to see them for weeks, so preoccupied had she been with Bill, even though it had been awhile since he was freed from jail. He had already gone off for the day, although to where she had no idea. On the way over to the den she'd picked up a copy of the newspaper for Fagin; she knew how he hated having to leave the den to get it early in the morning. However she barely glanced at it having swiped it, more concerned with getting to Fagin's than the front page.

"What's that you have for me, my dear?" Fagin asked as Nancy entered the den, paper in hand. He seemed in good spirits despite the boys clamoring for food around him at every turn.

"Wot's it look like Fagin?" replied Nancy with a laugh, tossing the paper onto the table, once again without looking at it. "It's the paper."

"What a ready wit you are, my dear," Fagin said with a small laugh, before he was distracted from the conversation at hand by Charley's observation that the toast was burning. Having salvaged what he could of breakfast he left the boys to fall upon it while he went over to talk to Nancy. However, his ferret like eyes fell, not on her, but the paper at her side.

**HOUSEBREAKER TOBIAS CRACKIT DROWNED IN BRUMLEY RIVER AND WITH HIM EVIDENCE OF HIS LATEST, AND LAST, ROBBERY**

"Nancy…" he said, his voice hoarse with constricted emotion; shock, fear. He could say no more but simply continued to stare at the paper. Nancy, confused by Fagin's expression, looked at it too. Her eyes grew wide, and a hand flew to her mouth as she attempted to stifle a small cry of shock. How could she not have noticed that before? She looked from the paper to Fagin and back again; Fagin had gone white and was biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Dodger, looking up from his breakfast, was quick to notice the sombre and shocked expressions of the pair.

"Fagin?" he asked, all innocence. "Nance? Wot's got you two lookin' so scared eh?"

As if on cue there was a loud and furious hammering at the door and the sound of shouting, very slurred, unintelligible shouting. But it was a voice the occupants of the flat knew all too well. Bill.

Fagin and Nancy exchanged glances, as if debating who it should be to open the door. Nancy eventually went to open it, another gasp of terror leaving her at the state Bill was in. He was completely off his head with drink; it was obvious not only from the glint of his eyes and the colour of his cheeks but the expression on his stony face.

"B-Bill?" Nancy asked. A silence seemed to have descended on the flat and its occupants as all turned to look at the pair framed in the door; the furious Sykes and the anxious Nancy. The two seemed oblivious to the stares however, caught, trapped in a world of their own.

Bill said nothing. He simply raised his hand and struck her down.

There was a moment of complete silence, broken only by the sound of Nancy's shallow, shocked breathing as she looked up at Bill. Bill didn't even spare her a glance; it was as though he couldn't see any of them, as though he was trapped inside his own head.

The silence passed as suddenly as it had come. Fagin and a couple of the boys hurried forwards to help Nancy to her feet; Nancy was maneuvered into a chair and watched over by the boys as Fagin approached Bill once more, biting his lip.

"Bill, m-my dear…" he said, looking from Nancy to the young man before him and back again, hardly daring to try and meet Bill's eyes. He knew he had to tread carefully; Bill was clearly not in a temper to be trifled with. But there was something strange about the whole scenario…he knew Bill was violent, he knew what he was capable of…but never, in all the time the relationship between Bill and Nancy had been going on, never had he suspected _this_. He had assumed, somehow, that with Nancy all Bill's rage and tempers faded, and it had certainly looked that way at the start. But now things had taken a turn for the worse, and the old man could not believe how blind he'd been to it.

"Bill…" he tried again. "Bill…I don't understand…"

"'Course you don't," spat the housebreaker, shifting his gaze to glower at his old mentor. "None of you does. 'Ow could yer?"

This didn't help to ease Fagin's confusion any.

"W-why…why did you just go and….h-hit Nancy, my d-dear?"

Bill shook his head. Even he wasn't sure. It had become second nature to him without him meaning it to; he'd sworn he wouldn't hit her again…that seemed so long ago now. Somehow it had made sense in his gin-addled brain…Nancy had always been suspicious of Toby so she must have had something to do with his demise…Bill wasn't even sure how his own mind came up with these thoughts, but they'd been there enough for him to act on them.

Bill Sykes was a changed man. He'd grown from a troubled boy into a violent youth. His relationship with Nancy, for all outward appearances, seemed to have changed him for the better, but it was clear despite any feelings that he may once have had for her, he was still trapped within a cage of brutality, unable to escape. What could have been, and should have been, an opportunity to make himself a better man, a kind, loving, caring man, had only ended in this. More violence, more sorrow, more pain. It was like a never ending, vicious cycle from which he could never break free even if he tried, despite everything.

And little did he know how his violent tendencies would reach new heights, excel the boundaries of all he had done before and would ever do again. Nor how soon this would happen. How could he have guessed? He'd threatened it. But he'd dismissed the notion as ridiculous, what reason would he have to, he never could, he never would…

"_If you ever do anythin' to betray me…anythin'…I swear…I'll kill ya."_


	52. Fatal Consequences

Chapter Fifty-One – Fatal Consequences

The raucous music swelled and the rowdy, drunken crowd pressed in on all sides, the tune sounding increasingly like the roars and screeches of wild animals than anything remotely resembling a melody. But even over this incessant din it wasn't hard to hear Bull's-Eye's barking, alerting his master that something was wrong.

Bill looked over at him and saw instantly what it was; Oliver had disappeared. He got to his feet, eyes darting about the tavern in search of the boy. At last he spotted him, not in the pub but just outside, a glimpse of the boy's retreating back as he was ushered away…by none other than Nancy.

He should have known something was up when Nancy first opened her mouth to sing, but the suspicion had never entered his mind. Instead he'd turned to Fagin and begun discussions for a crack planned for a fortnight on, utterly unaware of the deception playing out right under his nose. Fagin could have been in on it for all he knew, distracting him with talk and mugs of gin.

Not that what had occurred mattered now. What mattered was preventing what, in Bill's mind, was going to occur. Taking events at face value, it seemed to him as though Nancy was going to betray them all, or had done so already. The fact that she was taking Oliver away when he'd told her in no uncertain terms to keep him there was enough to rile Sykes. But there was more to it than that. He knew there was.

"_If you ever do anythin' to betray me…anythin'…I swear…I'll kill ya."_

His goal firm in mind, face set, determined to bring them both back, Bill pushed and shoved his way towards where he'd seen them last, paying no heed to the shouts and protests of those he jostled out of the way. He could hear Fagin close behind him but paid the old man no heed. His attention was focused entirely on the fleeing pair, his mind no longer there but instead alternating between past and present, memories and words long forgotten mingled with an unsettling new desire…the desire for revenge.

"Careful Bill, please! No violence!"

Fagin's warning fell on deaf ears. Bill was already far away, another time, another place, the sound of his footfalls as he ran across the bridge from the Cripples, through alleyways and across streets, pounding in his ears to mingle with his memories.

_She was small, certainly, only a little over four feet in height, looking to be about ten years of age. She was as thin as the next starving street urchin but her ragged red dress, practically falling apart at the seams, looked to be a size too small for her. Her hair, stringy and copper coloured, framed her face elegantly; a face which would have been pretty were it not bearing a ferocious scowl; nose wrinkled in distaste, lips pursed, blue eyes narrowed._

_Bill was taken aback._

_Had this girl, this little ten year old girl, really attempted to attack him, and questioned what he'd done? Had she really just issued him a challenge? Who did she think she was?_

He stopped suddenly, saw her running across the street, the boy's hand gripped tightly in hers. He moved into the shadows in case she saw him, but his worries were in vain. She simply kept running, didn't look back. Didn't look back at the man she claimed she loved.

_Despite everything, she was in love with him. And this, she knew, would never change. Not even when she died._

He kept running, always ensuring he stayed far behind enough not to be noticed, yet not so far behind he'd lose track of them. He knew where they were going now, recalling the route they were taking as though he'd walked it a thousand times.

London Bridge.

Where it had all began. Where he'd slept the night he'd ran away from home, the day before he met Fagin. And now, where it would all end. If Nancy betrayed them it would mean the end of all Bill knew and dared to hold dear. He couldn't let it all slip away. He couldn't face the end of everything, not when he'd already lost so much. It never occurred to him that Nancy hadn't peached; it was the only logical explanation for her actions. It never entered his head that she was trying to save Oliver from the same fate she'd endured, the same destruction of innocence, the same life of pain and torment. In his mind, she was a traitor.

_"I'm sorry Mister Fagin got mad at ya."_

_"Wotever. Go to sleep."_

_"Bill?"_

_"Wot?"_

_"I wosn't listenin' to ya, I swear I wosn't. I ain't a sneak."_

They'd reached the bridge. Bill stopped in his tracks, Bull's-Eye at his heels. From where he stood, managing to tear his gaze from Nancy and the boy for a mere moment, he was quick to spot the toff waiting for them, pacing, his outline shrouded somewhat in mist but then thrown into sharp relief by the lamplight.

Bill drew closer, saw Oliver run into Nancy's arms in a warm embrace. The sentiment of the moment was lost on Sykes; he was too far gone now. He had to get the boy back, stop him telling the toff everything. He had to stop Nancy. And there was only one way to do so.

_Nancy wasn't as confused as Bill with regards to her emotions; she was surprised that Bill was acting this way; he usually didn't act as though he cared, about anyone or anything, but now it was clear to her that he__did__care. About the gang. About her._

_"Thanks, Nance," Bill said as he let go of her, ruffling her hair in an affectionate manner. "You're a good 'un."_

_Nancy giggled as Bill's large hand tickled the top of her head._

_"You are too, y'know," she said, bending down to retrieve her presents and stow them carefully back in her pockets. "I think you're…well…__nicer__than you let on. You just need to show it more."_

He ran forwards even as Nancy shepherded Oliver up the stairs, grabbing her around the waist with one hand and Oliver with the other. He attempted to throw her to the ground to get a firmer grip on the struggling boy but before he knew what was happening, Nancy had grabbed ahold of him…she was fighting back.

"Bill! For God's sake let him go! Leave him be!"

Her furious yells only served to incense Sykes further. He pushed Oliver away and turned to face her, but before he could do anything he felt her strike him across the face, frightful and wild in her frenzy to escape, to help the child escape.

Despite Nancy's sudden and unexpected attack, it was Bill who had the upper hand, forcing her backwards, pushing her behind the bridge. He felt her fingers digging into his skin, saw the look in her eyes, a confused mixture of fury and fear. Yet there was something else there too, something akin to tenderness, the way she'd felt about him when they first admitted they loved each other. She still loved him. He could see it in her eyes.

Did he love her? How could he tell? He was blinded by fury, blinded by fear…any semblance of sentimentality had fled from his mind. He was consumed, enveloped in anger…Nancy had betrayed them…he'd warned her what would happen, and what had she gone and done?

He managed to pry her off him, throw her to the ground. She was still screaming, but begging now, pleading, seeing the fury that undoubtedly burned fierce in his eyes. She attempted to get to her feet but all in vain. Bill hefted the jemmy in his hand and struck her down.

_"All you see is a villain, a monster! But he ain't that! 'E's got a heart, y'know, 'e's got feelin's, just like any of us!"_

Nancy continued to scream, to plead for mercy, despite the blood that was now gushing from where the crowbar had struck. Bill raised the club and struck her again, he could hear her cries, he could see the blood yet it had no effect on him…or it seemed not to.

_Nancy was certain, for a brief moment, that he could kill, her, that he__would__kill her…Bill's face swam before her eyes…her tear-filled eyes…_

Her cries were growing weaker now, her voice thick with unshed tears, gurgling slightly with the blood welling up from within. Her pale skin shone eerily in the light from the streetlamps, skin now flecked with fierce, fiery crimson.

Another blow.

_"Nancy misses you, Bill."_

_Bill shook his head in disbelief. She didn't miss him; she'd be happy now with Dodger._

_Nancy would be better off without him. He was no good for her._

She was nearly silenced, trembling and convulsing in a pool of her own blood, her screams and cries now no more than whispers. She was still alive, but she wouldn't be for much longer. He struck her again, seemingly unable to help himself, the crowbar rising and falling in his grip like a vicious machine that refused to break down…

_Nancy had put him in his place._

_He couldn't help remembering the first time they'd met, if only for a brief instant; she'd defied him then, and she had defied him now._

_He couldn't let that happen again._

_He wouldn't._

The final blow. He saw her mouth working furiously to form her last words, saw her shudder with her final breath. It would be a waste to time to check for a pulse, a heartbeat. It was evident even at a glance that there was no saving her; the brutal beating she'd been dealt had seen to it that her life was at an end. As Sykes looked down at the fallen Nancy his grip on the crowbar grew weaker until he was unable to hold it any longer; it fell to the cobblestones beside her with a clatter, the force of the impact flecking Sykes' coat with even more blood than it already was streaked with.

His eyes were wide, his breath coming quick and sharp. What had he done? He tore his eyes away from Nancy's corpse and examined his hands. His brutal hands. His blood-stained hands. The hands of a murderer.

_But then it occurred to him that, brutal as he could be, he wasn't a killer. He could drink and shout and swear and fight but kill? It didn't seem impossible, what with Bill being who he was, but the man himself just couldn't picture it. He'd seen a man die, right before his eyes and had felt guilty enough then…and Bill wasn't a man for guilt or regret._

_'Me; a murderer?' he scoffed to himself as he stowed his gun in the inside pocket of his greatcoat. 'Don't make me laugh.'_

In the past, he hadn't wanted to see her get hurt. After the first time he'd hit her, he'd sworn he wouldn't do it again. He'd felt genuine guilt, regret, despite himself, despite everything. Nancy was the one good thing in his life, the one person who truly loved him, the one person he could always depend on. But in those few furious moments, he was no longer the man he had been. He was no longer a man at all.

He was a murderer.

_"I…I'm sorry B-Bill…" she whispered hoarsely, not daring to even move a hand to her face for fear of another blow._

_"Don't lie to me,"_

He was the one who was sorry now, he was the one who felt regret, he was the one with silent tears coursing down his cheeks. But it was too late.

Nancy was dead. And he, Bill Sykes, had killed her.

**A/N:** It's been far, far too long my dears. Exams, writers block, preparing to move to Scotland and start a new school…that all adds up to utter chaos and a lack of writing. Here's hoping I still have some readers! XD

The final chapter will come sometime soon; in the mean time, please read and review. ^_^


	53. The Greatest Man Of All Time

Chapter Fifty-Two – The Greatest Man of All Time

How long had he been running? He didn't know, he didn't care. As long as he got away.

He stopped once he reached the relative safety of an alleyway, his heart pounding furiously, sweat and tears mingling as they coursed down his face. He squeezed his eyes tight shut to try and stop the tears…he never cried. Never.

No…it was foolish trying to tell himself that now. He did cry, he was crying. He wiped his free hand furiously across his face, the other hand gripping Oliver's arm like a vice. It didn't appear that Oliver had noticed Sykes' weakness; the boy was too preoccupied with trying to break free of the housebreaker's grip. But despite his tears Sykes was still strong as ever, and clung on grimly to the boy's arm.

It was then as Sykes attempted to dry his eyes that he noticed Bulls-Eye; the dog was lumbering on ahead of them without looking back. Bill called for him; the dog stopped in his tracks but didn't return. Bill knew he had to get the dog back; his paws were sticky with blood. He tried calling again but the dog still refused to come back. Seeming momentarily to lose his fragile sense of control, Bill flung himself at Bulls-Eye, intending to grab him. The dog had other ideas, bolting as fast as its stubby legs could carry it, back in the direction of London Bridge.

Bill cursed but he couldn't chase after the dog; Oliver had taken advantage of Sykes' letting go of him to try and make a run for it himself. Bill seized the boy before he could move away any further and proceeding to haul him through the warren like maze of back alleys and streets that led to Fagin's. He needed money…he needed to get away…and if they came for him, if the traps were onto him, he'd have the boy to bargain with…

"Brass. I need some brass. I've gotta get away!"

The gang had looked shocked as Bill enetered the den, Oliver in tow; the manic and wild look in his eyes clearly indicated that something was wrong. And despite this Fagin, to whom Bill was now hurriedly conversing, seemed to not have registered his old protégé's panic.

"What's wrong Bill?"

"Didn't you 'ear wot I said? I need brass…_money_!"

The look of confusion on Fagin's face vanished, slowly but surely being replaced with one of anxiety…no…of _fear_.

"There's…blood…on your coat…"

Bill could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again. He looked away, taking deep, shaking breaths to try and calm himself. But nothing worked. The expression on the faces of Fagin and the boys, the look of abject terror on Oliver's, his own tangled web of emotions…it all cultimated into an experience that was painful almost physically as well as emotionally. For the thousandth time, he asked himself the question. _What have I done?_

"Where's Nancy? Hmm?"

Sykes shook his head, saying nothing but feeling everything, the reality of what had occurred crushing him like a vice, piercing like a thousand steely knives.

"Bill? Bill Sykes? What did you do? _What did you do_?"

Somehow Bill found some words to speak, but he regretted them as soon as they were said. His voice was low and gravelly as ever, but it's shakiness clearly indicated just how unsettled and unhinged he really was.

"She won't peach on nobody no more."

An admission of guilt. He'd killed her. He'd killed Nancy. The look Fagin gave him next was a mixture of horror and terror the likes of which he'd never seen the old man wear before.

"You shouldn't…have done _that_…" A pause. Then, more fiercely; "She peached? You're sure?"

"She must've done, musn't she? She wos takin' the boy to Brownlow on the bridge…'e was there waitin' for 'er-"

"Well then what did you come here for? Get out, y'hear me? _Get out_!"

It was as though the pair had suddenly returned to the man and boy they had been in their first meeting; Fagin with the authority and the upper hand, Bill his disobedient charge who deserved to be punished. But Bill was having none of it. He started towards Fagin, eyes blazing, a hand outstretched as if to grab his old mentor by the throat…

"_I want money, Fagin_!"

The old man seemed to quail, trembling as he extracted his coin purse from his pocket.

"H-how much? T-ten? Twenty?"

Bill snatched the purse from Fagin's shaking fingers, ignoring the man's protests.

"If anyone should come 'ere lookin' fer me-"

"They won't find me here! You don't think I'm just gonna stand 'ere and wait for 'em, do y-"

Fagin's reply was abruptly cut off by the sound of barking. The flat fell silent. Bill's stomach churned; he knew that bark as well as he knew his own voice.

"It's him," he muttered, more to himself than the others. "Bull's-Eye."

Moving away from Fagin he hurried to the window; sure enough it was Bull's-Eye approaching the den…closely following by a baying crowd. Bill was certain he'd gone white. Hurriedly he withdrew his head from the window, mind thrown into even more panic than he would have thought possible. It seemed that Fagin was following along the same lines; having seen the crowd for himself he addressed the boys, instructing them to be quick as they were changing lodgings. This command given, chaos erupted. Boys appeared from every nook and cranny, grabbing all they could, donning hats and waistcoats, scrambling to escape.

Sykes, on the fringes of the crowd, was muttering frantically to himself, as though mad.

"Nancy, I loved you, didn't I? Look wot you've done to me!"

With that he plunged into the crowd of boys, noticing that Oliver was attempting to join in the fray. He grabbed him around the waist and dragged him to the door but before he could make his exit he was verbally waylaid by Fagin.

"Bill! Why make things worse? Leave 'im!"

Bill turned to face him, face contorted with a mixture of fury and fear.

"It's me they're after!" he spat. "But they won't go for me. Not if the boy goes, they won't. So you keep outta this!"

With that he wrenched open the door and pulled Oliver out along with him, not sparing a last look for the man who had raised him to become what he had, the man who'd taught him to pickpocket, the man whom he both respected and detested, hated and appreciated. A friend? Certainly not. But there'd been more to them than the relationship between mentor and apprentice.

The crowd was swarming towards the den, Bull's-Eye in the lead, barking all the more at the sight of his master. Standing on the bridge as he was, Bill could see the extent of the crowd; it stretched as far as he could see, and probably further; a furious crowd salivating for his blood. He could hear their cries and shouts, threats and curses and, probably due to the unusual and overwhelming feelings of guilt and regret that consumed him, he found that he was afraid.

It was then that the crowd began to ascend the rickety steps towards him. Bill considered backing away, but at the last minute darted forward and, without thinking, dangled Oliver over the side of the bridge, as if testing the boy's power as a bargaining tool. This didn't quite work out as Bill had hoped; there were appropriate gasps and cries of shock, but now the crowd seemed all the more determined to get at him, dozens more attempting to climb the steps.

However, the steps were used to the light feet of the boys, Fagin's soft shoed tread and they'd grown used to Bill's marginally heavier walk over the years. But nothing had prepared them for the onslaught of people which now weighed them down. From his vantage point Bill could see the stairs begin to give way beneath them, but he was more concerned with the boards now breaking free of their restraints around him…he had to get off the bridge before it collapsed…

Sykes stepped hurriedly backwards, Oliver in tow, unsteady on his feet as the bridge gave way around him. He was in luck however, rather than backing to the opposite side of the bridge, he'd backed against the abandoned building at its end; the window to be more specific. It was this building or the rapidly collapsing bridge, and Bill knew the most sensible option. Twisting around he gave the window a hefty kick or two; the glass was brittle with age and breaking it was much easier than anticipated. He forced his way through the gap he'd made, dragging Oliver with him.

It was a reprieve, but he hadn't escaped yet. The building seemed to be some sort of abandoned warehouse, not that this mattered to either party as they hurried through it, one dragging, the other being dragged. Having reached the opposite end of the building Bill wrenched open the door he was faced with, only to be confronted by an unanticipated problem; there was no way to get from this building to the next. It didn't help of course that the next building was not as tall as the one he and Oliver were occupying and would have to be accessed via the roof. It also was a hindrance that the crowd appeared to have anticipated the outcome of his decision in entering the building and had flocked to meet him on the street below.

The decision was obvious; he would have to get across from this building to the roof of the one opposite. And he'd have to be quick about it; he could see a number of policemen attempting to batter down the door below, if they succeeded they would soon be advancing up the floors of the old warehouse to arrest him…

It was then, as he attempting to come up with a solution to this new and alarming problem that he noticed a beam up above him with a disused rope hanging from it, though barely. Sykes grabbed in and tugged; the rope fell and coiled haphazardly at his feet. He bent to pick it up and tied one end into a strong loop, hopefully this would be strong enough to hold him. This done he tied the other end of the rope around his waist, secured with the strongest knot he knew. He could hear the crowd below wondering as to what he planned to do, hear the splintering of the door as the police continued to barge it…

Bill handed Oliver the rope and picked him up once more, assisting him in climbing so the boy was astride the beam. The child was clearly terrified; he was shaking in Bill's grasp, but he clung on grimly to the wood as though his life depended on it…and it did.

"You loop the rope over the end of tha' beam there," Sykes instructed, attempting to keep his voice calm as a means of keeping a cool head himself. He saw the boy nod shakily and proceed along the beam, the multitude of people below clearly outraged at the task Sykes was forcing the boy to do.

It felt like an age to Sykes but at long last he saw Oliver slip the crudely fastened rope over the beam. Having tugged the rope and ensured its strength, Bill turned to face the opposite roof. It was crazy, he knew, to attempt to access it this was, but what other choice did he have? Gripping the rope tightly he took a few paces backwards then, resisting the urge to close his eyes, swung over the edge of the small platform he was standing on, aiming for the roof.

He almost made it, but not quite. The rope could have given way, but miraculously it held. However Sykes only managed to touch the rooftop, not having long enough to grab on and climb upwards. He heard the people below gasp at his daring (and foolishness), heard the sickening crash from the door as it gave way, the jubilant cries of the police as they hurried inside…he only had one more chance. The last chance.

Bill steadied himself on the platform, gritting his teeth, face set. This was it; do or die. He pushed himself off the platform again, there was a momentary feeling of being flung into nothingness…then he felt it. The hard, solid surface of the roof in his hands. Clinging on grimly he pulled himself up, even going so far as to scrabble at the surface with his feet in an attempt to aid himself. He was on his feet again in a matter of minutes, but he was very unsteady. The rope was still tight around his waist…he would untie himself and then continue his flight, run until he could run no more…

In untying the rope he would be cutting off all ties to his past life. That was what he hoped to do. Somehow he would make the guilt and regret fade, start anew. The knot around his waist was tight and the devil to undo, and it didn't help that some members of the crowd were attempting to knock him from his new and precarious perch by throwing stones, trying to throw him off balance. He flung these back as they neared him, enraged, and continued to scrabble at the rope like a man possessed.

But all his efforts were in vain.

_A bang, the stench of gunpowder, a yell, the frenzied howls of the dog, the smell of blood…_

He heard Bulls-Eye yelp, heard a roar from the crowd, heard the gun go off. The bullet made its mark and he stumbled, flailing, floundering. He couldn't feel the stickiness of the blood, he was too far gone, lost in a haze of searing, excruciating pain. He tried to stay upright but it was no use; merely moments after the bullet struck he fell from the rooftop, the force of his weight causing the rope to swing back and forth as it had before.

Only this time the man wasn't alive.

Bill Sykes was dead; killed by a bullet wound to the chest. To the heart. Where it would hurt the most.

He'd begun his life in the shadow of a demonizing, alcoholic father and, having run away and attempted to escape that life, fallen into a den of thieves and been corrupted further beyond measure. He had never been destined for greatness, despite Fagin's promises. A victim of circumstance, perhaps. But then, he'd made the choice to stay with Fagin. The choice the housebreak. The choice to try and escape through his relationship with Nancy. But he'd killed her; killed his one chance of normalcy, his one chance at true happiness, at love. It was as though everything he did, everything he touched, was bound to fall apart, break into a thousand pieces. He could never have been the greatest man, not of all time. But was he truly a bad man? He'd pick pocketed, mugged, robbed from houses, lied, cursed, beaten, murdered…was it possible there'd been some semblance, some shred of good in him? As all good people have their faults, so do villains have their redeeming features, however small and insignificant they may seem…surely. Others may not have seen them, or if they had, chosen not to see. But there was one person who had. Who had seen the kindness hidden inside the gruff and violent exterior, the man behind the monster.

_"'E's not a bad man Fagin, honest," Nancy replied gently. "'E's Bill."_

FINIS


End file.
